


Smoke and Mirrors

by lettersinpetals



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Friends With Benefits, Hate Sex, Healing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, the happiest ending i could manage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersinpetals/pseuds/lettersinpetals
Summary: “We aren’t lovers,” Atsumu protested.“We’re not even friends,” Kiyoomi added.“Regardless, a photo of you two—” Foster paused, seemingly searching for words. “Canoodling, to put it lightly, is splashed all over the news and social media —”“Canoodling,” Atsumu repeated. “It was a drunken mistake—”“It was a moment of weakness,” Kiyoomi interjected.“We cannot afford another scandal,” Foster said with finality. “We’re telling everyone you’re in a relationship.”(Or: A scandalous photo of Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi taken during an ill-advised one night stand goes viral. To save face, it's agreed that they should pretend they’re in a relationship.)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 623
Kudos: 2491
Collections: Behold the Sacred Texts, Inarizaki Serotonin Rush, SakuAtsu Fics, haikyuu fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s the fake dating AU yall badgered me for on Twitter, but who said I had to stick to one trope, huh? (I can almost hear [twitter] akane whispering “and then they were FWBs.”)
> 
> All my love for my beta, Ely ([cielelyse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cielelyse)) -- thank you for having the patience of a saint even though you send me passive aggressive smileys whenever I'm doing everything but write

It started with alcohol-stained lips clashing together in a low-lit hallway. Atsumu pressed Kiyoomi against the wall, shuddering at the feeling of nails digging into his scalp, pulling him closer, closer. The music from the ballroom was distant and muted, allowing him to hear Kiyoomi’s panting and the urgent whisper of _‘Miya_.’

“Fuck,” he ground out, head swimming. He shouldn’t have let Hinata convince him that drinking all those glasses of wine was a good idea. Even Kiyoomi was roped into it, and he had the lowest tolerance of them all.

“Fuck,” Kiyoomi hissed back when Atsumu pressed a thick thigh in between his. Atsumu started kissing down his neck, nipping and sucking, hands sliding down his sculpted torso that he could feel even through the three-piece suit.

He started unbuttoning Kiyoomi’s vest, but a semblance of sense seemed to trickle into Kiyoomi because he gripped Atsumu’s wrist to halt his movements. “Wait.”

“I know you want this.” Atsumu was certain he did, because he could feel the bulge straining against Kiyoomi’s trousers. He mercilessly dragged his thigh up and down Kiyoomi’s erection, and the resulting whine flipped a switch in him — he needed to fuck him. Now.

But Kiyoomi could always be trusted to be the last one to cling to control and reason. He bit out, “Bathroom. Now.”

They traipsed down the hallway and barged into the seemingly empty bathroom, locking the door behind them. Another cursory check confirmed that they were alone.

“Fancy,” Kiyoomi noted absently. His eyes were hazy, but curiously fixated on a spot above them.

Atsumu took a moment to watch him in vague amusement, before following his gaze. A chandelier was casting spheres on the white ceiling, gently illuminating the room in a pale golden hue.

“It’s a chandelier,” he said, and given Kiyoomi’s startled blink, answered his unspoken question. Atsumu snorted. Sakusa Kiyoomi, drunk? He’d never seen it until now, and he’d appreciate it more, if his dick wasn’t aching for relief. “Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna help me and remove your pants?”

“Fuck you, Miya.” Kiyoomi looked irritated but started unbuttoning his trousers. He was wearing thermal underwear, which was reasonable because it was the peak of winter, but it was still the unsexiest thing he’d ever seen. He smirked, and Kiyoomi flushed.

Shoving his pants down angrily, Kiyoomi leaned back against the counter and kicked them off the rest of the way. Atsumu greedily ran his eyes over the long, long legs, throat drying when they spread themselves. He dragged his gaze away from the flushed cock to check Kiyoomi’s expression. Something like clarity was spreading across his face, and he was frowning.

“Having second thoughts?” Atsumu asked, raising a brow at Kiyoomi in challenge. He had already unbuttoned his own pants and opened them, but he wasn’t that much of a shithead to push through with something the other party wasn’t comfortable with.

But Kiyoomi licked his lips, eyes drawn to the tent in Atsumu’s gray boxers. “Just get on with it.”

“You’ll let me fuck you, won’t you, Omi-Omi?” _Please say yes, please say yes._

“Say another word and I’ll change my mind.”

Well, he couldn’t have that. He did know when to shut his mouth sometimes.

They were too impatient for foreplay. After rolling on the condom he’d earlier tucked into his wallet, he slid one, two, then three lubed up fingers into Kiyoomi, before shoving his cock in.

“Fuck,” he grunted out. “Tight.”

“Move,” Kiyoomi snapped, digging the heels of his oxford shoes into Atsumu’s ass.

No more words were exchanged between them as they rocked together clumsily on the icy marble sink, but their gasps echoed loud in the silence. Kiyoomi tasted and reeked of alcohol, and it sent Atsumu’s head spinning. Intoxicated in more ways than one, he let himself sink into drugging pleasure and heat.

They accidentally banged their foreheads together when they came, almost simultaneously. The whole thing was quick and sloppy, but Atsumu was too high on alcohol and sex to really care. It was good, they both got off, that was all that mattered.

Fuck. How could sex with Sakusa Kiyoomi be _good_?

As they awkwardly cleaned themselves up after the deed, Kiyoomi, sounding a lot more sober, stated, “This won’t happen again.”

Atsumu zipped up his trousers. “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t do repeat performances.”

They straightened themselves up in prickly silence, unable to do anything about their flushed and wrinkled appearance. They headed out, keeping a respectable distance between them.

“That was weirdly good,” he couldn’t help but say as they walked back up the hallway towards the party, the beat of the music greeting them. “Wasn’t it?”

“Passable,” Kiyoomi dismissed.

Atsumu threw him a sideways glance, smirking. “Sure. Let’s pretend you’re not limping right now because you begged me to fuck you harder.”

Cheeks flushing bright red, Kiyoomi treated Atsumu to a glare that could kill a bird mid-flight. _Man, this dude is such a stuck-up prude sometimes_ , he thought.

But now Atsumu was in possession of the knowledge of what it was like to have him panting and needy and screaming his name. A funny little feeling curled in his stomach. He wanted to do it all over again.

Shit. He was an idiot, but he knew when he made mistakes. This was one of them, he understood that even with all the alcohol coursing through his veins.

\--

He didn’t expect to regret it so soon, though.

When he woke up to a scroll of notifications on his phone, Atsumu ignored them. He dashed into the shower and let the water drench him, hoping it would wash away the memories of last night’s activities.

It didn’t.

 _Damn, I really slept with Omi_ , he thought. And then, _Shit, it can’t happen again._

All conversations were cut off when he walked into the kitchen. Everyone swiveled their heads to stare at him, except Kiyoomi, who was acting like the dining table was the most captivating thing in the world.

An ominous feeling pricked at him. “What?”

Their team captain, Meian Shuugo, rubbed his face. He looked exhausted. “Atsumu-kun, sit down.”

His apprehension intensified. Warily making his way to the table, Atsumu pulled out a chair and sat. He eyed Kiyoomi, and received a glare in return. Well, okay then.

Seconds passed without anyone saying anything. He ran his gaze over his teammates, who were either avoiding his eyes, or staring back at him in shock and horror.

“Okay, what is it, what?” he finally demanded, patience running thin.

“A’ight, I’m just gonna rip off the band aid,” Inunaki Shion, their libero, said. “Dude, you and Sakusa are viral.”

“And?” That was hardly news. They were often viral. All of them were, but most especially him and Kiyoomi, as well as their fellow _‘monsters’_ — as people endearingly dubbed them — Hinata Shouyou and Bokuto Koutarou.

“Let me clarify. A photo of you and Kiyoomi, um — _kissing_ — during the event last night is viral.”

His brain refused to process the words. He stared at Inunaki, wordlessly asking him to take it back.

Inunaki didn’t. “Now I am completely horrified, because _ew_ , but seriously...are you two fucking _stupid_? In a _charity_ event? Which had official _photographers_?”

“An official photographer is behind this?” he asked angrily. This whole thing sounded fishy to him. Hired photographers were supposed to be professional. He and Kiyoomi weren’t even in the _ballroom_ when they both lost their minds.

“I called the event organizers,” said their giant hitter, Oliver Barnes. “Because the photo was one of two hundred posted on their Facebook. They said it was a slip. They took it down but…”

“It’s too late,” Meian said solemnly. “It’s everywhere.”

Atsumu snatched his phone up from where he’d placed it on the table, ignoring messages from Osamu, and quickly tapping on his Twitter app.

What greeted him was an unfortunately high quality photo of him and Kiyoomi in the hallway. _Kissing_ was a nice way of putting it — he wasn’t sure if it could even be called that, what with their lips all shiny with spit, and his own tongue peeking out as it slithered its way into Kiyoomi’s mouth. They were dishevelled, and Atsumu was in the process of removing Kiyoomi’s suit, and that _expression_. God. He wanted to see Kiyoomi's face exactly like that again, and a tiny part of him was glad to have it immortalized.

It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what happened after.

This wasn’t just a viral incident. This was a scandal.

He stared blankly at his phone screen, shame spreading in his gut. _Not again_ , he thought with more than a little dread. _I haven’t even recovered from the last one._

“Are you two together, then?” Hinata asked, brown eyes blown wide.

“ _No_ ,” he and Kiyoomi denied at the same time.

“Did you…” Adriah Tomas, their middle blocker, looked like he was going to regret what he was about to ask. “Hook up there? In the _public hallway_?”

“Of course not,” Kiyoomi snapped. “I’m not that stupid.”

“We did it in the bathroom,” Atsumu supplied helpfully, and Kiyoomi sent him another lethal glare.

“Oh my god,” Bokuto breathed out. He looked lost and Atsumu suppressed the urge to pat his head. He liked Bokuto, he was probably Atsumu’s best friend, if his twin wasn’t counted.

“Gross, gross, gross.” Inunaki looked pale. “Are you sure it was empty?”

“Please tell me there aren’t any sex videos waiting to be distributed,” Meian said in a pained voice. “ _Please_.”

“It was empty,” Atsumu assured. “I checked.”

 _‘Checked’_ was overstating it. They had just sent a cursory glance around the bathroom and bent down to check the cubicles before they were going at it like rabbits.

What were they _thinking_?

“Anyway,” Meian sighed. “Foster’s on the way. He’s...not happy.”

Right on time, a knock sounded on the front door, making them all jump. Meian stood up and strode over to let their guests in, and they all meekly trooped to the living room.

Their head coach, Samson Foster, walked in, silent and expressionless. On his heels was their publicity manager Yuma, who looked like she’d eaten a lemon.

“This is a disaster,” Yuma hissed. “What were you thinking? And at a charity event, too! Have you no shame?”

Everyone turned to look at him and Kiyoomi, who looked down to avoid their eyes.

“If it were just Atsumu-kun, I wouldn’t be surprised, but you, Sakusa-kun—! And how could you keep such a thing from us? How long has this been going on?”

Kiyoomi cleared his throat. “Nothing’s going on, there’s no _thing_.”

Understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, this is even worse.”

“I don’t know how to feel about this revelation,” Foster said. “I was clinging to hope that you were secret boyfriends, this mess would have been easier to fix.”

“Yeah, no.” Atsumu rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um, sorry, Coach.”

“You should be. This isn’t your first offense, Atsumu-kun.”

His teammates cringed, probably remembering his many PR messes, the latest of which was when he stupidly allowed a fan to sit on his lap during one of their night outs. He found out too late that the girl’s friends were taking a video, and once he did, he shoved her off his lap and straight onto the floor.

The video of the incident, of course, went viral, and not in a good way.

And that was just _last month_.

Yuma seemed to have calmed. “You know, this might be a good thing. You know how Atsumu-kun has been building a bad rep lately.”

“I told you,” Atsumu began defensively. “That girl—”

“Yeah, yeah, you panicked,” Yuma waved him off. “But let’s not forget your other...victims.”

Inunaki snorted. “ _‘Victims’_ is the right term.”

“Now, this is too big for us to simply ignore. But for a change, the feedback isn’t so bad.”

Kiyoomi perked up. “It’s not?”

“Well, there are many who are judging you of course, and ‘ _canceling_ ’ you or whatever. But the majority of the people are actually pleased.”

“Pleased?” Atsumu found that hard to believe. People could be such vultures, waiting for the chance to drag him down and devour him.

“Oh yes. You’ve accumulated a ton of fans overnight. There are Facebook pages dedicated to ‘ _SakuAtsu_ ’ now.”

His brain whirred to catch up. Connected the strings of their names together; half of each — SakuAtsu.

Atsumu burst out laughing, and the rest of the team followed. “That is the stupidest shit I have ever heard.” He looked at Kiyoomi. “Can you believe this, Omi-Omi?”

“I really don’t want to.”

“So,” Yuma cut in. “We can either let people think we have not just one, but _two_ idiotic playboys on the team, _or_ we ride this opportunity.”

Apprehension dripped down his spine again. The room went quiet.

Yuma sighed. “We won’t deny the relationship rumors.”

“You’re...asking us to pretend to be in a relationship?” he asked, thoroughly astonished. What the hell was happening?

“That sounds like the easiest and most effective solution,” Foster said, stroking his chin in thought. “Yes, that would fix many, many problems. It would do wonders for Atsumu-kun’s wild reputation if they find out he and Sakusa-kun are lovers, especially now that we know the public approves.”

“We aren’t lovers,” Atsumu protested.

“We’re not even friends,” Kiyoomi added.

“Regardless, a photo of you two—” Foster paused, seemingly searching for words. “ _Canoodling,_ to put it lightly, is splashed all over the news and social media —”

“Canoodling,” Atsumu repeated. “It was a drunken _mistake_ —”

“It was a moment of weakness,” Kiyoomi interjected.

“We _cannot afford_ another scandal,” Foster said with finality. “We’re telling everyone you’re in a relationship.”

“You can’t just do that,” Kiyoomi said crossly.

Foster sighed. “No, we can’t, but you know what’s on the line.”

Meeting his coach’s eyes, Atsumu pressed his lips together, recalling the brands that cut ties with him and the millions of yen worth of endorsements he lost over one single badly-taken video.

“Think about it,” Foster advised. “Let us know before we start practice again on Monday.”

\--

He sulked back to his room and let himself collapse in bed with a huff. It wasn’t often that his life sucked, but when it did, it _really_ sucked.

Although it _had_ been sucking more than usual lately. Bitterness and frustration surged up in him as he was faced with the realization that there was no one to blame but himself.

When he made the decision to become a professional volleyball player when he was sixteen, he thought the popularity aspect of it was pretty damn cool. But it was merely the cherry on top of his big dreams. He had his sights fixed firmly on the game, fueled by the determination to see how far his passion for the sport could take him. Sure, he had fangirls even back then, and he did enjoy the boost to his ego, but they were never a big enough deal to factor in his life choices at all.

But high school popularity turned into nationwide fame, and cute glitter posters turned into damning news headlines, and suddenly, so many eyes were tracking his every move. It wasn’t an overnight development — it happened slowly over time, so slowly he barely noticed at first. Back then, he’d been highly pleased when he'd notice his follower count steadily rise over time. It wasn’t until he was going viral over the stupidest things that it all exploded in his face.

Fame was a double-edged sword, he learned. It earned him sponsorships and endorsements and modeling gigs, allowed him to meet some truly awesome people, granted him the comfortable life he was living now. Unfortunately, fame also meant being held to unreasonably high standards, which he had no choice but to meet. The public seemed to forget he was just human, too. So fucking what if he wanted to go dirty dancing in the club? Why was it a crime to let some girl sit on his lap?

It wasn’t so much his actions that he regretted, but rather the consequences of them. The only reason they were even considered scandals was because everything he did was blown out of proportion.

He rubbed his face. _Fuck, sleeping with Omi was a mistake though, whichever way I look at it._

This mess only served to remind him why he never mixed business with pleasure. He could handle the cheers and the jeers when it came to his performance on the court; hell, he could handle all the publicity, good or bad.

But he would never forgive himself if he ruined his life, if he ruined _volleyball_ because of an ill-advised one night stand with his prickly teammate.

And with that, his mind was made up. He’d been in this industry long enough to understand there really hadn’t been a choice in the first place.

Sighing, he reached out to pick up his phone. Time to face the music. Sometimes, he really didn’t know whether to bask in the limelight, or regret not staying in the shadows.

Fake boyfriend, huh? He can do that. He’ll play their game, and he’ll win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omi POV

Kiyoomi glowered at his phone, placed face down on his desk, regretting all the life decisions he’d made that led him to this point. He shouldn’t have drunk at all. Or maybe he shouldn’t have attended the event.

No, he shouldn’t have signed with the MSBY Black Jackals in the first place. That was the root of all his problems right now — the damn Jackals and their fan meets and their charity participations and their social events. He’d gotten offers from many professional volleyball teams after graduating from Waseda, a lot of them based in Tokyo, but he just had to take the road less taken, didn’t he? Now he was stuck all the way in Osaka with a team full of idiots, the biggest of which was Miya Atsumu.

It was weird, knowing someone for so long but never really _knowing_ them. He had met Atsumu when he was still sporting hideously bleached hair in high school; hell, he’d seen him before any bleaching had commenced. The two of them had never learned to be friends, their paths never really crossing enough for that. Sure, they were in training camps together and competed in tournaments against each other, but in the grand scheme of things, they were nobodies to each other. For one, Kiyoomi lived in Tokyo, and Atsumu in Hyogo. And if the distance wasn’t enough to prevent a friendship, their clashing personalities were. And it wasn’t because they were too different. In fact the opposite was true: they were too similar.

Things changed when Kiyoomi joined Atsumu’s team, but not by much. They were both professionals whose priority was to sync up and play well together, nothing else. Kiyoomi wasn’t a very sociable person; he liked his teammates well enough, would even go so far as to say he was _fond_ of them, but they were rowdy and loud and all over the place. Hinata, Bokuto, and Atsumu in one team? Had Kiyoomi known what was waiting in store for him in Osaka, he would have second guessed his choices.

Sometimes, hiding from them was the only time he could enjoy some peace. So that was what he did.

He had been with the MSBY Black Jackals for a handful of months now, and regardless of everything, he _was_ content with them. They were in the middle of the V. League season — there weren’t going to be games soon because New Year’s was approaching, but apparently professional athletes don’t get breaks. They still had continuous training, of course, but more importantly, they had social appearances. The event they had attended was some Christmas charity program, and that was nice and all, but Kiyoomi detested the crowds and all the peacocking. He had enough of all that growing up, he couldn’t believe he still had to do it now.

His parents were surely going to be disappointed with what he’d just done.

Picking up his phone, he knew the bite was coming even before his mother’s tinny voice sounded from the other side of the line.

“Kiyoomi,” she said severely. “Please tell me that this photo of you that’s being repeatedly sent to me is edited.”

Shame curled in his stomach. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“I raised you better than that.”

He clenched his jaw so he wouldn’t say, ‘ _You barely raised me at all._ ’

“Honestly, Kiyoomi, we accepted that your homosexuality wasn’t just a phase, but this is a little too much. At least keep your dalliances clandestine.”

His mouth was moving before he could think it through. “It’s not a dalliance. Atsumu is my boyfriend. Our privacy was breached.”

Silence stretched for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, his mother said, “A boyfriend. Another one?”

He rolled his eyes. His one and only relationship ended _two years_ _ago_. But he merely said, “Yes.”

“And this is the replacement? Your teammate, is he not?”

“Yes.”

“In what way is this rational? This is irresponsible, Kiyoomi. We allowed you to follow your passion for sport, and now you’re so eager to butcher it?”

“It’s not, it’s—” Kiyoomi tamped down his frustration over his stammering. “There are no rules against it, so long as we can remain professional. And we can be professional, I guarantee it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” his mother sniffed. “Introduce him to us one of these days— let’s have dinner here in Tokyo. I’ll let you know the schedule.”

“Yes, Mother. It will have to be in March, after the season.”

“That will do. For now, I am going to sue the people behind this—”

“It’s a _charity_ organization, please don’t do that.”

A pause. “If you’re sure.”

“It’ll blow over,” he assured. “And we’re coming out about our relationship to make it less…”

“Scandalous?”

He cringed. “Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll have my secretary call you soon, Kiyoomi.”

“Okay. Bye.” His words were met by silence; his mother had already hung up.

He put his phone back on his desk with a defeated sigh. There was no going back now. In for a penny, in for a pound.

\--

Later in the day, he caught Atsumu in the hallway, seemingly squirelling snacks to his room. Kiyoomi cornered him against the wall and loomed threateningly. “Miya. Starting today, you’re my boyfriend.”

To his surprise, Atsumu merely straightened and nodded his head firmly. “You’re on.”

“My mother called, she was very disappointed. I lied — I told her you were my boyfriend, and she wants to have dinner with us. Not soon, because she’s busy, but at some point, yes. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I already agreed, chill,” Atsumu gestured dismissively, fingers curled around a can of Strong Zero. “What do we do next?”

“I guess we ask Foster or Yuma. We’ll probably have to ‘ _come out_.’” He certainly didn’t think he’d have to go through that process again, and to the public, no less.

Atsumu blew a raspberry. “This sucks.”

“No use crying over spilled milk.” He stepped back, allowing Atsumu some room to breathe.

“So, should we have rules or what?”

“I can’t think of much, except one, make it convincing, and two, don’t forget this is all a sham.”

“I’m not stupid,” Atsumu scoffed. “As if I’d go for your type — no offense, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi scowled at that, mildly offended. “Excuse me? What’s that mean?”

Atsumu pushed off the wall and brushed past him. “Don’t dwell on it, Tokyo boy. I’m gonna nap, ‘kay? If Bokkun looks for me, tell him I need my beauty sleep.”

“I’m not your messenger pigeon,” he snapped at Atsumu’s back, but in the next second, he was alone.

Kiyoomi sighed, awash with the feeling that his life was about to change, and not for the better.

\--

The first roadblock was ironing out a story.

“Just say you started going out when Sakusa-kun joined the Black Jackals, what’s wrong with that?” Inunaki asked in exasperation. The team was lounging in the living room with cheat day snacks, ignoring the movie playing on the television.

“Then how do we explain that one time he kicked me live on air?” Atsumu shot back. “People are already digging up old interviews! We never looked in love at all!”

“And are you forgetting Miya’s scandals? The girl on his lap? That boy he was filmed lewdly dancing with in the club?” Kiyoomi asked. “If we were together then, that would reflect badly on me.”

“Why do you have to make my life so difficult,” Meian sighed. “ _After_ his latest scandal then. So we’ll say it’s pretty new, like weeks-old new.”

Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Look, you both have personal feelings about this... _arrangement_ , but you’ll have to put that aside from now,” Meian said sternly. “This is your mess. Do you know how much our merch sales drop whenever Atsumu-kun gets into another controversy? And we’re losing followers!”

“We’re gaining them again,” Barnes informed them. “Looks like people really like this development. Everyone’s so curious, they want the full story.”

“Yuma-san said to announce it on social media, right? To attract more followers and possible endorsements?” Hinata asked with bright eyes. “Just post a kissing selfie or something!”

“Can we be in it?” Bokuto asked eagerly.

Kiyoomi stared at him. “Why in the world would you be in it?”

“The whole team should be in it!” Hinata exclaimed.

“ _No_ ,” Kiyoomi stressed. What was wrong with these people? “No kissing selfie.”

“Why not?” Adriah asked. “You seemed just fine making out with him the other night.”

“He was fine with more than th— _ow_!” Atsumu rubbed his calf and sent a glare at Kiyoomi. “Quit kickin’ me!”

“Then shut your mouth,” Kiyoomi snapped. His temples were throbbing with a burgeoning headache. “A few days after _that girl_ , you asked me out, and after several tries, I said fine.”

Inunaki snorted. “Sounds likely.”

“Why do I have to do the asking out?” Atsumu complained. “After the incident with _that girl_ , you realized you liked me after all and wanted me all for yourself, so you begged me to give you a shot.”

Barnes laughed loudly. “I know I shouldn’t find this so amusing, but I do.”

“We are never getting a straight story at this point,” Meian said glumly.

“You can just say you both realized it!” Bokuto said earnestly. “And agreed to give it a shot, and now here you are.”

“That works,” Kiyoomi admitted begrudgingly. “Let’s just be as vague as possible.”

“But not too vague to raise suspicion,” Meian reminded.

“Maybe it’s been brewing for a while,” Bokuto continued thoughtfully. “But you didn’t want to face it. Because you’re teammates!”

“Huh,” Adriah said. “To think it’s Bokuto-kun of all people who’d have a semblance of rationality. Nice.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu grumbled, which they all took to mean as agreement.

“Alright, then,” Meian said, clapping his hands. “The show is on.”

\--

To his utter disgust, they did end up having to do a kissing selfie.

Atsumu pointed his phone camera at his bedroom mirror and said, “Okay, now kiss me, Omi-kun.”

With a sigh, Kiyoomi leaned in; Atsumu turned his head to meet him. There was an awkward moment where their lips stayed mushed together while Atsumu tried to angle the phone properly. Kiyoomi watched their reflection as the photo was taken.

His eyes fluttered shut when Atsumu caught his bottom lip in between his.

He dimly registered the sound of the phone clattering to the floor as they started furiously making out. The air between them had been sparking with a strange kind of electricity since the charity ball and Kiyoomi had been doing a good job of ignoring it, but something had to give. He threaded his fingers in Atsumu’s hair, his breathing quickening along with his heartbeat.

 _What are you doing_ , his mind fruitlessly screamed at him.

“What are we doing,” he panted out, when he was splayed on Atsumu’s bed, being crushed against the mattress. He hoped to all the gods it was clean.

“What we both want, but you’re too scared to ask.” Atsumu lifted himself up on his knees, removing his shirt in one swift motion.

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at him. “I said this wouldn’t happen again. _You_ said you don’t do repeat performances.”

Atsumu ran his fingers over the bared skin of Kiyoomi’s hip where his shirt had ridden up. Kiyoomi shivered; Atsumu watched him like a hawk. “It was good though. Wasn’t it?” Atsumu wagged his brows at Kiyoomi. “Imagine how good it would be if we could take our time. Besides, won’t it suck if we pretend to be together, but get none of the benefits?”

Heat pooled in Kiyoomi’s stomach, as he thought of all the things they could do. He’d like to blame the alcohol for what transpired the night before, but the shameful truth was that the memory remained startlingly clear. What was supposed to be a shitty quickie had successfully imprinted itself in his mind.

His cock was stirring in interest, his brain already beginning to shut down. He bid goodbye to his senses for the second time in three days.

Three days. He held out for only three days. What the hell did he drink that night and why was he still drunk?

But before jumping into another mistake, there was something he needed to make clear first.

He flipped them over, straddling Atsumu and seating himself on his dick. Atsumu was already hard, and Kiyoomi couldn’t help but grind down a little. He tracked Atsumu’s pink tongue as it poked out to wet his lips.

“I’ll agree on one condition,” he finally remembered to say.

“Oh?”

“When this sham is over, so is this arrangement.”

“And what is this arrangement exactly?”

“We fuck, nothing else,” Kiyoomi said bluntly. “And I mean _nothing_ , Miya. No being friends, no catching feelings.”

“Easy enough.” Atsumu bucked his hips, drawing out a hiss from Kiyoomi’s lips. “Can we start now?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Kiyoomi was surging forwards, shutting him up with a kiss. Their clothes landed silently on the floor, and they rolled on the bed, fighting for dominance. Kiyoomi ended up on his back with his legs slung over Atsumu’s shoulders, watching that damn tongue lick a trail up his calf. Atsumu never did learn to keep it in his mouth. Kiyoomi should be disgusted, but all he could think about was how that tongue would feel elsewhere.

Kiyoomi bent his legs and spread them in invitation. “You coming?”

Atsumu let out an obnoxious guffaw. “Hell yeah. But later.” He leaned sideways to reach his bedside table and returned with a bottle of lube and a handful of condoms. Overconfident. Naturally. Atsumu dropped them on the mattress carelessly, before scooting down to place himself between Kiyoomi’s legs.

“Try to keep it down, will ya?” Atsumu smirked at him. “We don’t want the entire house to hear.”

Before Kiyoomi could retort, Atsumu closed his lips around his cock. Kiyoomi’s hips bucked at the first touch, a whine ripped from him when Atsumu sucked at the tip. Watching with half-lidded eyes as Atsumu bobbed his head, Kiyoomi gripped wheat-colored hair, nearly ripping off a chunk when he teetered too close to orgasm.

“Wait,” he ground out, tugging Atsumu off. He wanted it to last this time. “Not yet.”

Atsumu licked his lips, eyes dark with hunger, and stroked Kiyoomi’s erection leisurely. “Sure. We have all night. But I think I’ll die if I don’t get inside you in a second.”

Dramatic as always. Kiyoomi breathed for a while, trying to tug his wits together. When he was calmer, he reached down and spread his ass cheeks open. “Well, hurry up, then.”

The sound of the bottle of lube opening cracked through the air like a whip, and the heat in Kiyoomi’s stomach simmered. It didn’t take long before Atsumu was pressing two fingers inside him. Kiyoomi breathed and let him in, eyes closing when they passed across a particularly good spot.

Atsumu seemed to _know_ , even though Kiyoomi didn’t dare let slip a single sound. Two fingers turned to three, then four, and by then Kiyoomi was wound up like a coil ready to spring. “Enough. Fuck me already.”

The crinkle of a wrapper was the only answer he received, and he waited, tense. He lost his breath when Atsumu started to push in. Slowly, then all at once.

When he bottomed out, they both stilled, breathing harshly. Kiyoomi placed his hands on Atsumu’s shoulders, a warning. _Wait_.

Atsumu was fucking big. The morning after that first encounter was so rough that he couldn’t believe he was so eager to do it all over again. But he was.

He wrapped his limbs around Atsumu, who took that as his signal to start moving. Atsumu was surprisingly gentle about it, considering how crazed he was last time, but Kiyoomi thought this was probably worse because he could feel _everything_. Felt every drag of Atsumu’s cock inside him, felt just how deep it reached. When Atsumu reangled his hips and thrust in harder, hitting his prostate, he felt that too, down to his toes.

“Move.” Kiyoomi’s voice cracked. “Faster. Come _on_ —”

The rest of the words died in his throat, and his eyes rolled up to his head as Atsumu followed the command. He started plowing into him fast and hard, impatience bleeding into his movements, giving away how desperate he was for it, too.

And Kiyoomi let himself go. He clutched at Atsumu’s back and let himself be fucked into oblivion, not complaining when Atsumu pulled out and flipped him over. Kiyoomi managed to get his knees under him, his legs feeling like jelly, and whimpered when Atsumu once again split him open with his girth.

He clawed at the bedsheets, at the pillows, at the headboard, and stared unseeingly at the wall, barely feeling the vice grip Atsumu had on his hips. His pleasure climbed until he was once again hovering over the edge. And kept hovering, because Atsumu slowed his movements, pulling out until just the tip remained inside him.

Kiyoomi felt every nerve in him unravel. "Atsumu," he gritted out, trembling, "you—" 

"Hm?" Atsumu said. "What's wrong?" 

To his everlasting shame, Kiyoomi broke first. “ _Please_.”

“Say my name.”

He _loathed_ him. He said so. Opened his mouth and spat out, “I hate you.”

“That doesn’t sound like my name,” Atsumu sang.

Fuck this. “ _Atsumu_. Please.”

A moan was punched out of him as Atsumu thrust back in and reached a hand under him to grasp at Kiyoomi’s leaking cock. A single stroke was all Kiyoomi needed to reach his peak, and he let out a mortifying whine when his orgasm hit him like a wave. Atsumu fucked him through it, fucked him ever faster as he chased his own pleasure. Kiyoomi knew he reached it when his hips stuttered and he let out unattractive little grunts. Kiyoomi would laugh at him, if he wasn’t too busy waiting for the torment to end.

When Atsumu finally released him, Kiyoomi collapsed onto the bed like a puppet without strings. His breaths came out in pants, and he shut his eyes, exhaustion making him drowsy. The mattress dipped as Atsumu lay beside him with a big sigh.

“Shit, that’s good,” Atsumu said. “Give me a few. Let’s do it again.”

Again? He didn’t know if he could survive another round.

That night, he found out just how far Atsumu’s stamina could go.

\--

Kiyoomi wobbled down the hallway, sneaking around like a rat in the middle of the night. He was sure to take a long and thorough shower when he made it back to his room.

As he relaxed in his tub, he took stock of himself. He thought he’d be more disgusted with himself but he wasn’t, shockingly enough. In fact, he already wanted to do it again.

This was not like him.

He was usually extremely careful about his partners. For one, they had to be clean and familiar enough that he wouldn’t mind their dicks inside him.

Second, they shouldn’t be _too_ familiar that he would see them often. Or at all, ever.

The point was that it was usually an open and shut case. He opens his legs, he shuts them. Case closed, never to be repeated or even mentioned again.

Atsumu was in every way the exception: he was filthy, he was unfamiliar, and he was close. It wasn’t that they hated each other, really. In fact, if pressed, Kiyoomi would admit he respected the guy — he worked hard and he was a damn good setter. They just didn't like each other, he supposed.

Kiyoomi was mature enough to admit that the distance between them was his fault. When he first signed with the team, fresh from college, Atsumu _did_ try — he was the type to think ‘ _my team is my family_ ’ and shit like that, so he nagged and badgered and whined. But his loud presence and persistent attempts only served to annoy Kiyoomi, who wasn’t in any way a nice or particularly understanding person. Atsumu looked affronted when Kiyoomi would snap at him, and muttered things like, ‘ _Some people never change_ ,’ and before long, he was throwing in the towel. Atsumu only had so much patience, Kiyoomi learned.

And he was _fine_ with that. He didn’t need to be in buddy-buddy terms with his teammates to work well with them. And _Miya Atsumu_ was the kind of person he wanted to protect himself from. He was careless and flighty and dangerous. And fucking annoying.

The sex was so good, though, to Kiyoomi’s chagrin. Mind-numbing, tongue-twisting level of good.

And now it just became convenient. No matter the state of their relationship, passing up the chance to have it on tap just seemed foolish.

Who would it hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay the board is set, let's get the ball rolling. Will update every 5 days or something like that!
> 
> Also I'd like to say that while I am knowledgeable about the sports world when it comes to their celebrity status and all the stuff about the media, I am entirely clueless about the actual volleyball stuff. Please do not perceive the details lol


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu POV

“This was the best decision ever,” Atsumu stated decisively, a week into their farce.

“You’re only saying that because everyone loves you again,” Kiyoomi pointed out.

They were in the hospitality room of the fan meet Yuma had arranged for the team, days before the resumption of the V. League games. The two of them stood by the door, waiting for their signal and listening to the chatter of their fans outside. Atsumu squeezed Kiyoomi’s hand, mostly to annoy him. It had obviously pained Kiyoomi to learn that they had to actually _act_ like a couple, which meant doing things like holding hands. He had to spray Atsumu’s palms with an unholy amount of alcohol before he agreed, which was quite offensive, actually. And ridiculous, considering all the shit they’ve been up to lately.

Not that he was the least bit surprised. Kiyoomi was a freak when it came to cleanliness and germs; it was just how he’d always been. The fact that he was letting Atsumu hold his hand was amazing. The fact that he let Atsumu fuck him? Unbelievable.

Atsumu squeezed Kiyoomi’s hand again, smirking internally. “You know, at some point I didn't give a shit at all, but now it’s just really nice not being persecuted." He mulled that over, thinking about the years that stretched out between high school and now, and everything that changed in between. What _didn't_ change? His vanity. "Oh, my follower count got even _higher_. You think if I post another shirtless pic, I’ll get more?”

“You do that,” Kiyoomi said drily. “The higher you go, the harder you’ll fall.”

“Now, now. There’s no need to get jealous, Omi-Omi. You’ve been Mr. Popular lately, too.” Atsumu swung their hands between them playfully. “Look at us, we’re totally a power couple. This is great. It’s a relief that you’re actually pretty hot.”

Kiyoomi crushed his hand in a deadly grip. “I swear to god, if you don’t learn to shut up—”

A clap interrupted their bantering. Yuma stood by the now open door, giving them an unimpressed look. “You two, quit it. It’s time to go up there.” She whistled at the rest of the team. “Let’s go, move it, double time. And try not to look so miserable, Sakusa-kun. Remember, you two are newly in love.”

Atsumu dropped Kiyoomi’s hand and wormed his arm around his waist. “We can do that. We can do that, right, Omi-kun?” He squeezed Kiyoomi, feeling the hard planes of his body digging against his.

“Whatever,” Kiyoomi muttered.

Cheers greeted them when they jogged up the stage, and something in Atsumu unfurled and snapped into place. _This_ he knew. This he enjoyed. For all the pains they gave him, Atsumu loved his fans, loved being praised, loved being adored. Nowhere near the love he had for volleyball, but it was definitely a weakness.

Probably his biggest.

He and the rest of the team proceeded to smile at the cameras, say a few words into the mic, and sit down to sign posters and volleyballs and t-shirts. They posed for selfies and Boomerangs, recorded video greetings, and accepted gifts.

Midway through the fan meet, someone was finally brave enough to ask him, “S-so it’s true, then?” The girl’s eyes flicked from Atsumu to Kiyoomi. “You two are together?”

Oh, right. He gave the girl a million-watt smile. “Totally! I knew Omi-Omi would fall for my charms eventually. It was only a matter of time.”

Kiyoomi seemed to have heard him because he interjected, “ _Atsumu_ here was so persistent, I felt sorry for him. Decided to throw the dog a bone, as they say.”

The fan who was having her poster signed by Kiyoomi curiously asked, “When was your first date?”

“Three weeks ago,” Atsumu blurted out the same time Kiyoomi answered, “December.”

They glanced at each other.

“I mean, three weeks ago _was_ December so…” Atsumu grinned at the girl, hoping his charms would smooth over the awkwardness.

It worked. The two girls giggled, collected their posters, and left after asking for a selfie with both Atsumu and Kiyoomi.

When the event was officially over, a reporter caught up to them and requested an interview. They agreed as graciously as they could manage, and Atsumu tried to remember Yuma’s tips when it came to dealing with the media: answer in complete sentences, don’t say things that would be damning when taken out of context, always be genuine, and if possible, give them no room to ask questions.

Oh, and never lose your cool. But he already knew that. He’d already paid the price for doing that. After that particular incident, he’d mentally added to the list of rules: don’t lash out at any journalist ever, _especially_ not on air. He learned the hard way that they would always manage to keep their cool while _he_ would look unhinged and be inevitably painted as the bad guy.

But that TV host really shouldn't have implied that Osamu wasn't good enough to make it to professional volleyball so he _'settled'_ for starting a shop instead.

A man carrying a heavy duty video camera positioned himself in front of them, nearly blinding him with the LED light, while another crew member held a microphone under his chin. The reporter set her gaze on them, and beside him, Kiyoomi locked up. Atsumu knew it was from the sudden pressure of being put on the spot and from the fear that their fragile web of lies would be dismantled, because surely anyone with a brain cell could see through this absurdity — what more a seasoned journalist?

But Atsumu has been playing this game for four years now. He could handle this.

“So, there are now _two_ photos of you kissing that’s currently viral. Could we take that as a confirmation that you two are dating?” the reporter asked, getting straight to the point. She didn’t even bother pretending to ask about the fan meet; he respected that.

“Yes, Atsumu and I are dating,” Kiyoomi said. _Answer in complete sentences_ , _check_.

“Oh, since when?” The reporter’s face melted into a practiced smile, her voice lilting into something friendlier.

“Early December.” Kiyoomi paused, then corrected himself. “We started dating early December.”

“Turns out we’ve both liked each other for a while,” Atsumu told her conspiratorially, slinging an arm around Kiyoomi and leaning towards the camera with a bulletproof smile. “We were dancing around each other for months, I guess, but we didn’t figure it out until a few weeks ago. It’s all pretty new, we’re still getting to know each other. But we’re having fun, right, Omi-Omi?”

The reporter nodded at him in what looked like approval. “Tell us about your first date!”

Fuck. Kiyoomi remained silent, so Atsumu scrambled to think of something.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Actually, we haven’t gone on any.” _Always be genuine, check_. “We’ve been training tirelessly and attending holiday events, you know?” He slid Kiyoomi a sideways wink. “I’ll get to it the moment we’re free, babe!”

Kiyoomi smiled stiffly back at him. “Looking forward to it. Um, ba-baby. Boy.” What the _fuck_ did he just say? Kiyoomi attempted to fix it. “Baby boy.”

Atsumu started laughing, unable to help himself. Baby boy? What the hell? The reporter and her crew followed him in laughter, so he tried to recover. “You are so bad at pet names, Omi-Omi! Is this revenge for me calling you sea urchin?”

The old nickname seemed to irritate Kiyoomi because his eyebrow twitched. “I hate that, I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Okay then,” Atsumu smirked at him. “Chicken nugget.”

“ _No_.”

“Sugar plum?”

Kiyoomi looked at the reporter. “Do you have further questions? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“He’s so hot-headed,” Atsumu told her, gripping Kiyoomi’s shoulder in warning. “But he’s my snuggle bug.”

God, did they just fuck up this simple interview? Heads were going to roll the moment Yuma got her hands on them.

Luckily, the reporter only looked amused, and a tad bit disinterested, as if she’d already gotten what she came for. “We’re good, thank you so much for your time.” She glanced at her cameraman. “Did you get all that?”

The cameraman gave her a thumbs up, and she bowed at Kiyoomi and Atsumu in thanks. They packed up and left, and Atsumu let out a sigh of relief.

He smirked at Kiyoomi the moment they were out of earshot.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi said.

“I didn’t say anything.” His smirk widened.

“I hate you,” Kiyoomi gritted out. “I’m going to kill you for all the shit you said today.”

Atsumu pulled him closer to murmur, “We can have make up sex later, behave for now. People are still looking.”

Much later, the clip of their interview would go viral, and Atsumu would cry in laughter at the redness in Kiyoomi’s face as he said ‘ _baby boy_.’ Yuma would give her approval over their _‘candidness,’_ the team would look traumatized, and the number of their fans would balloon exponentially.

Nothing about this made Kiyoomi particularly happy, especially not Atsumu’s — in his personal opinion — funny pet names. But Kiyoomi’s idea of revenge was sucking Atsumu’s brains through his dick, so he wasn’t complaining.

Life was looking good.

\--

They dived back into the games with high spirits. The team was doing well — practices have been flawless, so Atsumu wasn't surprised that their plays on official matches were, too. The days got colder and the nights longer, but everyone was hot-blooded and thirsty for victory. January ended with them clinching their third straight win since the year started.

He sat beside Kiyoomi on the bus back to their sharehouse. “Good game, huh?”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi admitted. His curly dark hair was still damp, but a stubborn wayward lock swept over his left eye. For once, he wasn’t frowning, letting Atsumu appreciate his elegant eyebrows and long lashes. “Surprisingly good.”

Atsumu bumped his shoulder against his. “It’s because you finally stopped pretending you don’t love us.”

Even the rest of the team had noticed that Kiyoomi was a lot less uptight and a lot more tolerant of...well, everything. The other day, he even indulged Bokuto’s request for a high five. Atsumu thought Bokuto was going to cry there and then.

It must be all the dicking Kiyoomi had been getting. Atsumu was going to take credit for that.

“I don’t love any of you.” And there was the scowl. Atsumu smiled sunnily in return. “I hate you. You all are the biggest pain in the neck.”

“Yeah, sure.” Atsumu could hardly deny _that_. “But isn’t it better that we’re all friends like this?”

“Is that what we are?”

“Huh.” He thought about that. _‘Friends’_ was never something he and Kiyoomi managed to be — not for lack of trying on his part, but Kiyoomi was goddamn immovable — now, though, he figured things were a lot different. “Hey, Omi-kun, I think we are!”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, but the twitch of his lips gave him away.

Atsumu was more delighted than he probably should be, but shit, he’d been wanting this team to be tight-knit ever since he joined it. Especially now that he had people his age around. When he was younger, he didn’t much care about his relationship with his teammates, thinking of them as stepping stones. But that changed when he went to Inarizaki High School, and he found that having friends was actually pretty cool.

Besides, good relationships meant better synergy on the court. He rewarded Kiyoomi with a bright smile. “We should celebrate!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“ _No_.”

They all trooped to a club that night, high on their victory and excited over the prospect of a weekend. Their next match wasn’t for another week, and they didn’t have practice the following day — it was already shaping up to be a good time.

The bass drummed in his chest the moment he stepped in, and he reflexively shut his eyes against the glare of the strobe light. The place reeked of smoke and alcohol and sweat; it was swarmed with people, even though it was only Thursday night.

For reasons Atsumu would never understand, Hinata and Bokuto were still filled to the brim with energy and enthusiasm. They made it their mission to get everyone drunk, shoving shot after shot into their hands. Even Kiyoomi folded, tucking his face mask away and drinking, though he wrinkled his nose at every round.

Needing a bit of a breather, Atsumu separated from them and made a beeline towards the bar. He ordered a beer and perched on a stool, sipping idly and running his eyes over the crowd.

It was at this point of the night where he would usually be off looking for someone to blow off steam with, but he wasn’t really feeling it now. It wasn’t actually something he did often, definitely not as often it was painted out to be in the tabloids, because more often than not, he wanted to celebrate — or mourn — with his teammates. He should probably go back to them now, he thought, eyes straying back to their table. Bokuto was waving his arms wildly, and Hinata was laughing in delight at whatever he was saying. Those two were truly ridiculous. Based on the expression on their teammates’ faces, they were inclined to agree.

His gaze landed on Kiyoomi, who for once wasn’t edging away into a corner. His mask was nowhere to be found, leaving the curl of his lips visible for anyone to see. The strobe lights passed across his face, setting his porcelain skin alight with a red glow.

 _Demon_ , his mind whispered inanely. _Dangerous_.

Atsumu licked his lips. Why bother with strangers when Kiyoomi was right there?

Buzzed and happy, he slinked back and sweet-talked Kiyoomi into going to the dance floor with him. Kiyoomi studied the writhing mass of bodies in repulsion, and looked at Atsumu as if to say, ‘ _Seriously? You want me to go in_ there _?’_

He eventually agreed, though, after much pouting on Atsumu’s part. Kiyoomi’s sour expression melted away when Atsumu clasped him in his arms, moving them slowly along to the upbeat song.

“Not so bad, right?” Atsumu asked, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

Kiyoomi shrugged, winding his arms around Atsumu’s shoulders. He leaned in close to say, “I’m dizzy.”

“Drunk Omi makes another appearance!” Atsumu crowed. “It’s alright, I’ll take care of you.”

The longer they danced, the more the alcohol seeped in, and soon their movements turned uncoordinated and sloppy and _brave_. Atsumu was getting worked up, his breath sawing in and out of his throat harshly, and his control further slipped when he heard a soft little moan escape from Kiyoomi’s lips. They were nice lips, soft and pouty and flushed red. Inviting. Atsumu leaned in, ready to take. Kiyoomi let him.

In no time at all, they were shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, grinding shamelessly against each other. Atsumu cupped Kiyoomi’s ass and guided him into rubbing against his thigh.

And then they were being yanked apart and back to the table the team had claimed.

“What the hell?” Atsumu complained, blinking against the whiplash.

“That was public indecency,” Meian snapped. “The point of this was to avoid scandal, not start another. You two, get yourselves together. Everyone pack up, no more drinking, we’re going home.”

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Inunaki said miserably. “And not ‘cause I’m drunk.”

The fresh air cleared Atsumu’s head a little when they stepped outside, but it did nothing about the arousal pounding through him. It would be pitch black outside if not for the neon signs of bars and restaurants that were still so alive at — he checked — 11:47 p.m. It was still early, but he was on edge, impatient to get home and fuck Kiyoomi silly. He tugged his coat tighter around him to protect himself from the merciless night cold. Winter always crawled by so slowly.

“You’re…” Adriah looked from Atsumu to Kiyoomi. “Extremely dedicated to this fake dating thing.”

Kiyoomi ignored him, so Atsumu excused, “Gotta make it believable for the public, right? I’ve gone viral for shit like this before, it would be weird if I don’t do it with Omi.”

“Oh, don’t worry, people are plenty convinced already!” Hinata said earnestly. Atsumu loved the dude, really, but it was conveniently easy to forget at that moment. “Even without this kind of scandal!”

“Yes, alright, thank you, Hinata,” he said sarcastically. He started walking towards the station. “Come on, let’s go home.”

He and Kiyoomi sat apart in the train, under the watchful eyes of their teammates. Atsumu fought the urge to snap at them, because if he did that, he might accidentally say something along the lines of, ‘ _We’ve been fucking for a month, making out and grinding are nothing_.’

When they entered the sharehouse, Atsumu gripped Kiyoomi’s shoulder and said, “Well, Omi-kun is drunk so I’m gonna help him to bed.”

Barnes glanced between them. “Okay…”

“Behave and no fighting,” Meian said absently, attention on Bokuto, who was swaying on his feet with a hand over his mouth.

Atsumu towed Kiyoomi away before any vomiting could commence. He was not cleaning _that_ up. “Night!” he called over his shoulder.

The tension steadily rose as they bypassed Kiyoomi’s room completely and made their way to Atsumu’s instead. It was an unspoken agreement that they always hook up there, and he didn’t know why, really, but every night he fell asleep thinking of all the filthy things they’ve done on his bed. He thought he’d probably been conditioned by now, because heat was starting to consume him inside out and they haven’t even reached the door yet.

 _God, just let me fuck him_ , he thought impatiently, lengthening his strides.

An eternity later, they were finally stepping into his room. It looked like Kiyoomi was just as eager, because he was all over Atsumu, kissing his neck and running his hands up his torso under his shirt.

“What, no shower?” Atsumu asked. That was a stipulation — whenever possible, shower first before sex. And then shower again after.

“After.” Kiyoomi stepped back and shed his coat, then sweater, then jeans. He was still wearing thermal underwear, and Atsumu smiled in fondness. Kiyoomi easily got cold. Free from his clothes, he stood there naked, running his eyes over Atsumu and frowning. “Miya.”

He jolted into action. “I’m here, I’m coming, get to the bed.”

Atsumu ripped off his own clothes and by the time he was climbing the mattress, Kiyoomi had two fingers inside himself, the bottle of lube discarded beside him.

“Impatient, are we?”

“If it wasn’t so gross there, I could have fucked you on that dance floor,” Kiyoomi panted, cheeks stained red.

Snorting, Atsumu said, “That’s just the horny talking.” He plopped to his back and patted his thigh. “Come up here.”

Kiyoomi pounced at him, hand automatically curling around Atsumu’s erection. Atsumu fumbled with the condoms splayed over his bedside table and he barely had time to roll one on before Kiyoomi was straddling him and lining up his cock.

“Definitely impa—” Atsumu choked down the rest of his words when Kiyoomi sank down smoothly, taking all of him effortlessly. “Fuck, Omi.”

“So good,” Kiyoomi breathed out. He gyrated on Atsumu’s lap, keening wordlessly.

Atsumu snaked his hands down to cup his ass cheeks. He helped him up and down, hissing at the pleasure. “That’s it. Come on, faster. Bounce on my cock.”

Moaning, Kiyoomi obeyed the order, and whatever control they had between them snapped completely. Kiyoomi was a wildcat, riding him without inhibitions, and Atsumu lifted his hips to meet him. They were letting out noises at every thrust, but Atsumu couldn’t care less anymore. All that mattered was this all-consuming ecstasy.

Pleasure mounting, Atsumu held Kiyoomi’s hips still and drilled into him with short, hard strokes. Kiyoomi splattered come on his stomach with an aborted yell and Atsumu shut his eyes as he let his own orgasm wash over him.

He let his head collapse back on his pillow with a groan, body tingling with the afterglow. “God. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Shower,” Kiyoomi replied.

Atsumu sighed in defeat. “Yeah, alright.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu POV

Kiyoomi was drooling on him. They were resting in between rounds of sex, and he’d fallen asleep on Atsumu’s shoulder, and he was drooling.

Atsumu blinked at his shadowy ceiling, wondering when his life turned out this way. He didn’t wake Kiyoomi, though. Poor thing was exhausted; Atsumu might have worked him too hard. They had just suffered a frustrating loss, and it didn’t really affect the team’s current standing, but he took it out on Kiyoomi because he had counted on him to kill that set, dammit.

Their kisses were bruising when they stormed into Atsumu’s room, their movements aggressive and punishing as he pounded all his fury into Kiyoomi’s body. There were hissed _'I hate you'_ s and some merciless clawing but also a lot of begging, so Atsumu thought it was probably fine.

“We should go on a date,” he said lazily when Kiyoomi stirred and rolled away from him.

“What for.” Kiyoomi’s sleepy voice was muffled against the pillow.

Atsumu took a moment to appreciate the slopes and dips of Kiyoomi’s mole-dotted back, which was even paler under the moonlight streaming from the window. He reached out to switch his bedside lamp on, flooding the room with a warm glow.

He poked at Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “Omi. We have to go on a date, remember?”

“Why.”

He waved wildly. “The fake dating thing! Yuma said—”

“Yuma said that over a _month_ ago, after we told a fan our first date was in December, only to tell a reporter that we haven’t had one yet.” Kiyoomi finally turned to him, looking unimpressed. “We never did it, she never reminded us, the fan was forgotten, and everyone’s buying it. Why are you asking now?”

That was an excellent question. He didn’t know. “I just remembered, alright? Isn’t a good boyfriend supposed to take their partners out on dates? We don’t have a single date picture!”

“ _Real_ boyfriends take their partners out on dates. _Fake_ boyfriends romance by fucking.” Kiyoomi shifted his limbs, brows drawn and lips pouting.

“Are you sore?” Atsumu asked.

“Not bad. I think I’m up for some romancing now.”

Atsumu barked out a laugh. Who’d have thought Sakusa Kiyoomi could be so greedy? Definitely not him, but after a month of this, Kiyoomi seemed to have learned to lower his guard and let himself live a little. Every night, they find themselves getting more bold — Atsumu, too, found himself doing things he’d never done to anyone before.

Still, he’d been rough earlier, and he was a little concerned about the state of Kiyoomi’s ass. “I’d have thought the last round would keep you down for a while.”

His worry must have bled through, because Kiyoomi sent him a cutting glare. “You underestimate me. Get to it, Miya.”

Lust curled in him, sparked by the challenge and growing at the sight of a worthy opponent.

Who was he to disobey?

\--

“So, how’s the fake relationship going?” Osamu asked. It was nearly 7 p.m. and the last customers of his shop, Onigiri Miya, were trickling out. Atsumu remained, chomping on the minced tuna and spring onion onigiri his twin had served him.

“Pretty good,” he said around a mouthful of rice. “No issue.”

“And the actual relationship?” Osamu slung a towel over his shoulder, seemingly done with wiping the counter for now.

Atsumu gave him a confused glance. “There is none.”

“Aren’t you two fucking?”

“Oh, yeah.” Atsumu wiped his mouth with a tissue. “It’s good. Sex is good.”

“ _Not_ what I was asking.”

“Then what are ya asking?”

“You two getting along, then? You kept complaining about it to me the first few days, but lately you haven’t been calling. And when you do, you sound—” Osamu hesitated. “Weird?”

Atsumu scowled. “I haven’t been weird. I’ve been in a good mood, actually.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes it weird.”

He balled up the tissue and tossed it at Osamu, who caught it effortlessly. “I’m just happy, leave me alone!”

“So you admit it, you’re happy?” Osamu seemed to be intent on boring a hole through him with his gaze alone.

“I mean, who _wouldn’t_ be happy? The team’s doing great, I get lots of sex, and there’s been zero scandals. Life’s good.”

“Thanks to Sakusa, I suppose.”

He thought about that, and slowly said, “I suppose…if you look at it in one angle, sure.” Kiyoomi _had_ kind of been the errant cog in the machine — now that he was operating well, everything was going smoothly. Atsumu felt strangely proud of him. Feeling indulgent, he said, “Hey, can you make him some plum onigiri or whatever? And the chazuke.”

“Am I your personal chef now?” Osamu snarked, but pushed himself off from the counter and headed towards the kitchen. As he left, he seemed to mutter something like, ‘ _No relationship my ass_.’

“There is none!” Atsumu called out to his twin’s back. He scowled when he was ignored. “Whatever.”

He checked his phone as he waited for the food, and saw several messages from Kiyoomi, each one more panicked than the last. Alarmed, he traced back to the first message, and saw that Kiyoomi had run out of...moisturizer.

Rolling his eyes, Atsumu tapped on his name and raised his phone to his ear. Kiyoomi answered on the first ring.

“What’re you bugging me for?” Atsumu asked.

“Miya,” Kiyoomi said in a displeased tone. “You took your time answering. You’re out, right?”

“Yeah, I’m at Samu’s shop, I told you.”

“Good, drop by a conbini or pharmacy store on the way back. I’m out of moisturizer.”

“I gathered that much.” Atsumu checked the view outside the window. It was dark, and he was all the way in Hyogo. It wasn’t a long train ride back, but if he had to take detours, he’d get home late. “Omi, I don’t th—”

“You need to.” Kiyoomi sounded a little frazzled now. “It’s winter— my face will dry and peel if I don’t—”

“Alright, alright,” Atsumu said quickly. Kiyoomi sounded really troubled by this. “Text me the brand and stuff. Actually, send a photo to be sure.”

Kiyoomi sighed in relief. “Okay. I will.”

When Osamu returned with a paper bag, Atsumu ripped it out of his clutches, “Gotta go, Samu, call you whenever.”

“How ‘bout never,” Osamu muttered. “Bye.”

Atsumu was already by the door when Osamu called out to him again. He turned back. His twin was wearing a curious expression that was impossible for him to read.

“Tsumu just — be careful.”

Confused, he could only say, “It’s like, half an hour train ride, chill.”

Osamu sighed sharply in exasperation. “You know what, you’re dumb and you deserve what’s coming to you. Get out of here.”

Atsumu waved at him cheerfully and scrammed.

By the time he got back to the sharehouse, he was drained.

He entered Kiyoomi’s door without knocking, announcing, “Your savior is here.”

Kiyoomi perked up from where he was bundled up in blankets on his bed. “You got the moisturizer?”

“And the toner and the sunscreen and the gazillion other shit you had me buy. Oh, and some food from Samu.”

“Really? You actually did it.”

Atsumu thought he had no right looking so surprised. “A thank you would be nice,” he grumbled.

“Take a bath,” Kiyoomi said. Naturally. He made grabby hands at the bags he was carrying. “But give them here first.”

Atsumu obediently went over and dropped the stuff on Kiyoomi’s lap. A moment later, he was being nudged away.

“Bath,” Kiyoomi insisted. “You can come back after.”

With a great big huff, Atsumu stomped away and into his room. Stupid Kiyoomi and his stupid demands and his stupid standards. Honestly, Atsumu shouldn’t have bothered going out of his way for him. _Who does he think he is?_ he thought furiously as he scrubbed his body clean in the shower. _What a jerk_.

Atsumu ducked under the spray to rinse off the lather, then jumped out and dried himself. Feeling loads better after pulling up some comfy sweatpants and a threadbare shirt, he made his way back to Kiyoomi’s room.

The jerk in question was curled up under the covers, Atsumu’s purchases nowhere in sight. When Kiyoomi spotted him by the doorway, he lifted an arm, reaching out for him.

Melting, Atsumu climbed into bed and burrowed into Kiyoomi’s warmth. The day’s exhaustion pressed down on him and he slipped under the covers drowsily. The feel of the sheets were unfamiliar because he was rarely allowed here, but they smelled like Kiyoomi. It comforted him.

Kiyoomi kissed him on the forehead. “Thank you,” he said primly. “Go to sleep.”

He did.

\--

Atsumu managed to wheedle Kiyoomi into going on that date mid-February. It was perfect timing.

Every shop they walked past was decorated with red and pink, but Kiyoomi remained oblivious to them. He sulked beside Atsumu, peeved at having been dragged outside, but obediently let himself be led by hand.

Eventually, they reached their destination: a small but rather fancy restaurant that Atsumu had booked for lunch days prior. They removed their scarves and gloves and ordered — both of them got yakiniku — and settled down.

“I’ve never eaten here before,” Kiyoomi said, looking around. “Which reminds me. Miya, we’re having dinner with my family next month. My mother’s secretary called this morning — she said March 29.”

Okay, that was scary. “What do they know?”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “Not much, I told them you were my boyfriend, they know you’re my teammate, that’s it. Though they probably pick up stuff from the media every now and then.”

Atsumu exhaled. “Alright.”

“You don’t have to worry. They’re just gonna see if you’re good enough or whatever.”

That was even worse. “Omi, they’re going to eat me alive.”

Kiyoomi sized him up, dark eyes lingering on Atsumu’s hair. “If your hair was still the piss blonde it was in high school, then yeah, definitely. Good thing you fixed that.”

“Hey,” he protested. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“It was the worst bleaching job I had ever seen,” Kiyoomi said flatly. Then he waved his hand dismissively. “Just be how you usually are during TV interviews. You’ll be fine.”

Atsumu nodded slowly. That sounded easy enough. He was good at interviews, charming as he always was; but he was still plenty nervous. “Tell me about your family?”

“Not much to tell. They’re all doctors — my parents, my older brother, and my older sister — they just have different specializations. I’ve never been close to any of them, they were all very busy. My parents were pretty strict, though, there were household rules and all. Being doctors, they were big on cleanliness — I wasn’t allowed out much. Also, they didn’t want me to embarrass them, especially when they couldn’t see what I’d get up to.”

Ah, a neglected baby of a rich family. A lot of things were suddenly making sense about Kiyoomi — the way he always acted like he was better off alone, like he was used to it; his utter bafflement when the team expressed their desire to spend time with him for no reason other than wanting his presence; his fussiness and unreasonable standards and disregard for high price tags that were enough to make Atsumu faint. He’d always assumed that people who lived in Tokyo were loaded, because how else could they afford the cost of living there? And they were snotty and dismissive and cold. In comparison, Atsumu’s hometown Hyogo was inexpensive and small — everyone was friendly, people were close.

He imagined a tiny Omi-Omi, unused to crowds and people, playing by himself in his room. Atsumu felt a little tug at his heartstrings. “That must be lonely.”

“You say that because you’ve always had Osamu. It was just how it’s always been for me. And I did have Komori. Remember?”

Komori Motoya, libero of the EJP Raijins, and Kiyoomi’s cousin. Atsumu only learned that they were family when the three of them were tapped to join the All-Japan Youth Training Camp when they were in second year high school. He remembered being amused that the grumpy Sakusa Kiyoomi was often tailed by the cheerful boy with the thick eyebrows. The memory made him feel better.

“My parents were fine with me going out if it was with him,” Kiyoomi continued. “They weren’t a fan of the whole volleyball thing when Komori first roped me into it, but he managed to charm them into letting me pursue it as my sport. I think they thought it would be harmless, so they let it happen. They weren’t pleased when I said I wanted it as my career.”

“I assume they wanted you to be a doctor,” Atsumu prodded, trying to hide his surprise over the unprecedented moment of chattiness. This was the most he’d ever heard Kiyoomi open up about himself in one go; conversations with him usually felt like pulling teeth.

“Yes. But I could be stubborn, too. I agreed to take pre-med in university on the condition that I get to play on the team. When I graduated, I told them it was volleyball or nothing. It’s not like they had a choice — by then, I was an adult. I could live on my own.”

Atsumu nodded slowly. “Thank god for Komori, then. Is he joining the dinner?”

Kiyoomi paused. “You know what, that’s not a half bad idea. The Raijins are based in Tokyo, anyway. And he’s dating someone, but he’s been very tight-lipped about it. I’ll tell my parents, maybe he can bring whoever it is, too.”

Their food was served, and the conversation turned lighter. Kiyoomi asked about his childhood and he regaled him with stories of his misadventures with Osamu growing up; told him about their childhood friend and later high school teammate Aran Ojiro; talked about studying in Inarizaki and playing for the volleyball team there. Aside from him and Aran, two other members went on to go pro — Riseki Heisuke, who was now an outsider hitter for VC Kanagawa, and Suna Rintarou, who was now a middle blocker for the Raijins, the same team as Komori.

A strawberry cheesecake was served at the end of their meal, and Kiyoomi dug into it, because he was a monster when it came to sweets. He tried to hide it, but he’d stopped fooling Atsumu a long time ago.

After the meal, they bundled up and braved the winter cold once again. The sky was pale but the streets were lively. His mood was high and he reached out and picked up Kiyoomi’s gloved hand.

“You good?” Atsumu asked, squeezing his fingers.

Kiyoomi nodded and strolled leisurely beside him, scowl gone. Atsumu led him to the end of the street, before dropping his hand.

“Wait here for me, I gotta run and get something.”

“What?” Kiyoomi frowned at him. “I’ll go, too.”

“No! Just stay here, I’ll be back in no time.”

“But—”

“Just wait here!” Then he dashed away.

Atsumu wove through the crowd, navigating the streets by memory. Finally, he reached the flower shop he’d ordered a bouquet of roses from. It had been ready for pick up for an hour, but Kiyoomi would probably just get irritated at having to carry that to the restaurant.

Tapping his foot, Atsumu waited until the shop owner handed him the flowers, which he accepted gratefully. He gave it a cursory glance and bowed in thanks before hurrying off.

He paused before turning to the street he left Kiyoomi at, hiding the bouquet behind him. Catching his breath, he walked as casually as he could until Kiyoomi was in sight. He looked annoyed.

“Where’d you go?” Kiyoomi demanded when he neared. “What was so important that you’d abandon me like that?”

 _So dramatic_. Atsumu pulled the bouquet from behind him and presented it proudly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

He had never seen Kiyoomi look so shocked; he almost burst out laughing. Kiyoomi’s lips were parted, his eyes wide, face frozen.

“Well? You don’t like it?” Atsumu teased.

Kiyoomi spluttered, “No, I—” He reached for the flowers, recovering. “I didn’t realize what day it was. I didn’t get—”

“It’s fine,” Atsumu interrupted. He winked at Kiyoomi. “You can romance me in bed.”

Kiyoomi stared at him, eyes softening. “Let’s go home, then.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon intertwined under the sheets. Kiyoomi let Atsumu do anything he wanted to him ‘ _and I mean anything, Miya, I’m not gonna break_.’ Atsumu fucked him slowly and thoroughly until he was in tears, begging for relief.

The light filtered out as evening fell, and Atsumu watched Kiyoomi eat the cheap chocolates he’d gotten for him at a conbini they’d passed by on the way back.

“Did you have fun today?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Kiyoomi licked at his chocolate-stained fingers. “Yeah.” He turned his head and smiled at Atsumu, red lips curving and pushing rosy cheeks up. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Atsumu.”

And his heart skipped a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw. they're getting to know each other how sweet


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA, I update the tags as I go along!!
> 
> Omi POV

He woke with the sun on his face and squinted his eyes open in irritation. He knew from the fact that the curtains were open and the presence of an arm around his waist that he wasn’t in his room.

 _I fell asleep in Atsumu’s room again_ , he thought murkily. Stretching languidly, he rolled over to his back, jostling Atsumu awake. The arm around him tightened, and a cold nose poked at the side of his neck.

Not yet in the mood to deal with all of Atsumu’s noise, Kiyoomi picked up his phone instead to catch up with all the news he missed while he was asleep. And while he was getting fucked, prior to that.

He wondered if it was weird that he was having sex on the daily now. He had never had a fuck buddy before, because he didn’t want to get used to people, but he had to admit it was a stroke of genius on their part. Aside from the admittedly great sex, the arrangement mellowed his relationship with Atsumu since they found a better outlet for their aggression towards each other. Why fight when they could rail each other instead? And it was still something to do on the days they _don’t_ fight, which were becoming more common now, as funny as that was.

But it was normal to want to keep doing things that felt good, right? Regardless of who he was doing it with. There was no point in worrying about getting used to Atsumu, because it would benefit their professional lives if they _did_ get used to each other. There was no avoiding him. And if this was the only way they could stand each other...well, he didn’t mind it.

The rational part of his brain warned him that this depravity had become a full-blown addiction, but he dismissed it. It’s been almost three months since they started this; they were both perfectly fine. Better than ever, even.

His notifications were mostly messages from the team’s group chat — Adriah was inviting them to a trip to the mall since they had no training today — and comments on his latest Instagram photo. Tapping on the app, he was greeted by the sight of his own face, smirking as Atsumu kissed him on the cheek. It had over a million likes now, and he just posted it yesterday. Atsumu had left a comment, just a heart emoji, but thousands had liked it. Kiyoomi smiled. _What an idiot._

He killed time by scrolling down Twitter, ignoring the press on his bladder that signaled that he had to get up and get started on his morning routine. He was too comfortable to move just yet.

Atsumu finally woke up all the way, burying his face into the curve of Kiyoomi’s neck. “What’s that,” he mumbled.

Kiyoomi shifted his body to face him, showing him his phone screen. “I found funny videos.”

They spent the next half hour snorting at the thread of ‘ _funniest TikTok videos_ ’ which Kiyoomi vaguely regretted because they seemed to plant ideas into Atsumu’s head. Atsumu often dragged Bokuto and Hinata for those, but lately, he’d been roping Kiyoomi into them more and more. Mostly just for sickeningly sweet videos though. Those Kiyoomi could tolerate.

“Adriah wants to go to the mall?” Atsumu asked, scrolling through his own phone. “Wanna go?”

Kiyoomi considered it. They only had two weeks left in the V. League season and the pressure was on, but they did have today free. They could use a distraction. “Sure. I wanna go to the katsudon place we ate at a couple weeks ago.”

“Alrighty.”

Atsumu left to get ready in his own room, and Kiyoomi headed to the bathroom to get ready. He took extra care in choosing his clothes, spent a little extra time styling his hair in the mirror.

When he stepped through his doorway, Atsumu was lounging on the wall across from him, tapping on his phone. He looked up to meet his gaze and Kiyoomi felt strangely breathless. “You good?” Atsumu asked.

Kiyoomi shut his door behind him. “Yeah.”

They met up with the team in the living room, and then they were off.

“Can we go to an arcade?” Hinata bounced around in excitement, his breaths coming out as tiny clouds.

“Arcade!” Bokuto yelled.

“Food first,” Meian said. “It’s the perfect time for brunch.”

Everyone agreed to the katsudon place Kiyoomi had wanted to go to, and they trooped inside the restaurant noisily.

As they sat waiting for their food, Atsumu wrapped an arm around Kiyoomi. “Whatdya think, Omi-Omi? You good with arcade?”

Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t a fan of arcades, but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. “I guess.”

“We can do something else, if you like.”

“Like what?” He watched Atsumu tap the corner of his lips in thought, a curious habit Kiyoomi had only just discovered recently.

“Ice skating?” Atsumu offered.

“How is that any better than an arcade?”

“Well, _you_ think of something, then!”

Based on the pout that now graced Atsumu’s lips, Kiyoomi figured he’d offended him again, which wasn’t his intention. He gave him a conciliatory peck on the cheek. “Ice skating is fine.”

The pout melted into a smile. “Okay!”

Kiyoomi turned to his teammates, feeling generous. “I don’t want to go to the arcade, it’s gross. But you can join us ice skating, if you like.”

His statement was met with wide eyes and a silence that stretched out longer than what was normal.

“What?” he asked impatiently.

“You—” Inunaki began, then stuttered to a stop. “You two—”

Barnes whacked him on the arm. “Sure, we’ll join you ice skating.”

“Wait,” Meian said. “Are you—”

Their captain received a whack from Barnes, too.

“Right, we won’t talk about it, okay,” Adriah muttered. “Ice skating, yay.”

“Yay,” Atsumu agreed.

“I don’t mind ice skating, that’s totally fine,” Hinata said, fixating on them with that eerie look he sometimes got when he was hyperfocusing on something. Usually a volleyball.

“Yeah…” Bokuto,too, was staring at Atsumu with his odd gold eyes. “I like ice skating. Tsum-Tsum doesn’t, really. ‘Cause he always falls.”

Kiyoomi turned to Atsumu. “Really?”

“Eh, it’s fine. Bokkun, stop digging up embarrassing memories! That was years ago!”

“I want to see you fall flat on your ass,” Kiyoomi mused. The thought of Bokuto sharing memories with Atsumu that didn’t have Kiyoomi in them set off a weird feeling in him. “Let’s go ice skating.”

He wasn’t much of a fan of it, because rinks were usually crowded, but perhaps it would be fun.

Turned out it _wasn’t_ fun, because they _both_ fell flat on their asses. Multiple times. The ice was cold even through his gloves and pants, but at least the crowd wasn’t suffocating. Probably because it was morning on a weekday.

Inunaki skated closer, cackling like the evil madman he was. “What kind of idiots are you two? We’ve been here ten minutes, and you’ve barely let go of the railing.”

“It’s Atsumu’s fault,” Kiyoomi snapped. “He keeps dragging me down!”

“You said you’d teach me!” Atsumu snapped back. “You’re such a shit teacher!”

“Look for someone else, then!”

“Fine! I will!”

“Fine!”

“Um.” Inunaki looked unsure now. “I mean, we have an hour…”

Kiyoomi skated away angrily, leaving Atsumu in the dust. Good riddance. He was an idiot anyway.

Chilly air swept past his face as he glided on the ice; it cooled his head a little. His relationship with Atsumu had improved by leaps and bounds, but it was so easy to crash back to how they used to be. He supposed it couldn’t be helped — the ugly parts of themselves would always be there, waiting for the right moment to clash. It was always just a matter of time.

He rounded the rink and spotted Atsumu being guided by Inunaki and Bokuto. Even from far away, Kiyoomi could see the pout of Atsumu’s lips, the furrow of his thick brows.

 _I might have been a little harsh_ , he admitted to himself, softening now. _We’re only here ‘cause he knew I wouldn’t like the arcade_.

With a sigh, he skated back to Atsumu.

“Give me him,” he ordered Inunaki and Bokuto, who startled at his appearance. “Stop being a baby, Atsumu.”

“Well, you left me to die!” Atsumu whined. He looked genuinely upset, lips trembling, eyes watery. Kiyoomi knew him well enough by now to predict that a meltdown was coming if he didn’t get his way, right this instant.

Jesus Christ. It took a lot of patience, dealing with this one.

But Kiyoomi did know one sure way to better his mood. He wrapped his arms around Atsumu’s waist and nuzzled his cheek. Then he whispered in his ear, “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Atsumu turned his head and caught his lips in a kiss. “Holding you to that.”

“And I’m out of here,” Inunaki announced. He turned and zoomed away, calling over his shoulder, “I hope your fingers get sliced off by ice skates!”

“Hey, Inu-san, I wanna race!” Bokuto chased after him.

Once again left to their devices, Kiyoomi turned back and resumed trying to get Atsumu’s feet under him, with a whole lot more patience, this time. It was slow-going, but Atsumu did manage to get the hang of it eventually. They skated slowly and carefully, fingers linked as they chatter about Meian’s not-so-secret obsession with American reality TV shows.

“I totally caught him watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians,” Atsumu claimed. “I went to the kitchen for water in the middle of the night, and he was there in the living room watching.”

Kiyoomi sniggered. “Does he think he’s subtle? Remember what he told you yesterday when you were whining about your socks turning pink from the wash?”

“‘ _Atsumu, there’s people that are dying_.’” Atsumu had to stop and brace himself on the rink’s walls as he doubled up in laughter. “Even I know that reference!”

“I can hear you two,” Meian said, skating past them, followed by Barnes. “And I hate you both.”

\--

The rest of the hour flew by quickly, but the train ride back to the sharehouse trickled by too slowly. Kiyoomi tapped his feet on the ride back, highly aware of Atsumu’s hand on his thigh. Even through his jeans, the heat felt like a brand.

The door banged against the opposite wall as they crashed into Atsumu’s room, lips locked as they ripped off their clothes. Kiyoomi kicked the door closed and clumsily smacked a hand on the doorknob to lock it.

“I owe you, don’t I?” he said. He shoved Atsumu down the bed and climbed after him. “Legs up.”

Once Atsumu’s legs were hooked over his shoulders, Kiyoomi buried his face in his ass and went to town. He’d never done this for anyone else, but he found he didn’t mind doing a lot of things with Atsumu. After months of exploring and getting used to each other, it would be ridiculous to still find something that disgusted him.

He fucked Atsumu with his tongue, high on the sounds of Atsumu falling apart. Atsumu’s thighs were trembling around his head, his breaths coming out in pants. Kiyoomi stopped when Atsumu breathed out, “Wait, wait, wait. Can’t come yet. Still gotta fuck you good.”

Arousal spiking, he cradled Atsumu’s thick cock on his palm instead and pressed kisses on it from hilt to tip. Practically worshipping it. Sometimes he could hardly believe himself. He wasn’t one to follow his desires without thought, but in the bubble he and Atsumu locked themselves in, he could be anything and anyone.

He worked his mouth down Atsumu’s shaft, gripping the base with his hand. When he made to pull off, Atsumu grabbed him by the hair and bucked his hips up.

“Sorry,” Atsumu immediately apologized. “Sorry, that felt too good. Fuck. I need to calm down.”

Kiyoomi pulled away and licked his lips. “‘It’s okay. You can fuck my mouth.”

Face red and sweaty, Atsumu gazed down at him and cradled his face, resting his thumb on Kiyomi’s bottom lip. “You could barely fit it all in, baby.”

He scowled. “I can do it,” he insisted. It wasn’t his fault Atsumu was so damn big and he had a small mouth. He ran his tongue up Atsumu’s length, then kept his mouth open in invitation.

Not one to turn down the promise of pleasure, Atsumu guided Kiyoomi’s head back down, canting his hips. He started off slow, overly considerate of Kiyoomi, but it just irritated him. Impatient, Kiyoomi swooped down and took him in all the way.

“Fuck!” Atsumu hissed. And his control snapped.

Fingers tightened on Kiyoomi’s hair, keeping him down as Atsumu started thrusting. He only got more aggressive with every thrust, and Kiyoomi did his best to breathe through his nose, eyes watering. When he gagged, Atsumu dragged him off his cock, panting.

“On your knees,” Atsumu ordered hoarsely.

Still catching his breath, Kiyoomi mindlessly obeyed. He spread his knees wide and braced himself for a rough fuck.

He was right to. Atsumu was an animal, digging his nails into Kiyoomi’s hips, plowing into him with abandon. In no time at all, he had Kiyoomi keening, arching his back and meeting Atsumu with every push and pull. This was the noisiest they’d ever been, and he _liked_ it. He cried out as he came and slumped into the pillows, letting Atsumu continue drilling into him until he, too, groaned out his pleasure.

For a long moment, they stayed still, panting. Then Atsumu pulled out with a whimper and rasped out, “Make up sex, ten out of ten. Would recommend.”

“Fuck you,” Kiyoomi said hoarsely. “I need a hot bath. A long one.”

“Later.”

“Now.”

“Are we done?” Atsumu asked. He slid his fingers back into Kiyoomi’s abused hole and crooked them. “Already?”

“Fuck you,” he repeated. His eyes fluttered shut as Atsumu dragged his fingers in and out of him gently, pressing against his prostate insistently. “Fuck. Atsumu. Stop.” He wasn’t sure he could handle another round, definitely not so soon. Did Atsumu never tire?

The fingers stilled. Silence reigned. Kiyoomi clenched around the thick fingers inside him unwillingly and a jolt of electricity traveled down his spine.

“More,” Kiyoomi said in defeat.

He got more. More than he signed up for.

He didn’t know why it didn’t feel like enough.

\--

Atsumu was nervous. The drumbeat echoing in the stadium kicked the tension up a notch as they waited for their signal to spill onto the court.

It was the final game of the V. League and they were up against the Schweiden Adlers.

Kiyoomi was a rookie in the world of professional volleyball, but he knew the Jackals had a bone to pick with this team in particular. For one, their high school rivals were there: Kageyama Tobio, Hoshiumi Kourai...and Ushijima Wakatoshi.

He had a personal issue with that guy. But the bigger thing to consider was the fact that the Jackals barely won any matches against the Adlers, and the latter always came away with the trophy.

And now they were here. And while it was only Kiyoomi’s first official season, this was Atsumu’s fourth. Kiyoomi knew Atsumu was thirsty for victory — he _understood_ that thirst, because it was one he shared.

He reached out and smoothed Atsumu’s hair and bumped his chin up with a knuckle. “Hey. We’ll win.”

Atsumu’s warm brown eyes landed on Kiyoomi’s face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Don’t doubt your hitters now.”

Atsumu smiled at him. “Never.”

The announcer started calling them each by name, officially kicking off the championship. Kiyoomi jogged to court, feeling light and unburdened and on top of the world.

He wasn’t lying to Atsumu. Their team was strong, and he felt honored to be a part of it. He was happy to have gone this far.

He knew they could win.

And they did.

Kiyoomi’s palm throbbed at the force of his spike, and he watched, seemingly in slow motion, as the ball hit the ground on the opposite side of the net. Hoshiumi slid across the floor in an attempt to receive it, but he was a little too late. Kiyoomi knew that even if he made it there on time, the ball would just spin off his arms.

It was a sure victory. But he was still in shock.

The noise came rushing back like a tidal wave, the stadium exploding in cheers. Familiar arms wrapped around him, lifting him a little. “You did it,” Atsumu yelled in his ear. “Holy shit, Kiyoomi, we _won_.”

At a loss for words, he settled for grabbing Atsumu by the back of his head and kissing the living daylights out of him. The cheers turned into delighted screams.

Their teammates threw themselves around him, wrapping him up in a sweaty group hug. He should be grossed out, but all he felt was a warm contentment.

He just led his team to victory. Nothing could bring him down.

\--

The post-game conference was held after they’ve taken their respective showers. Clean and zipped up in their beige winter coats, they flocked to the room where members of the media were waiting for them. They were greeted by camera flashes.

After settling down on the table with Foster, they patiently answered questions about their plays and strategies, and dissected errors and good saves and long-winded rallies. Kiyoomi wasn’t very good at this yet, but he wasn’t as bad as Hinata, who tried to explain things via sound effects. Beside him, Atsumu was trying to muffle his laughter.

When the match was thoroughly discussed, the press moved on to asking more personal questions. At first it was just about how they felt about finally stealing the title from the defending champions, and how they felt about going up against longtime friends and rivals. They’ve done their research, of course they have — they clearly backtracked as far as high school, because they asked Hinata about his ‘ _old setter,_ ’ Kageyama.

And then, inevitably, they asked about Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s relationship. He’d been waiting for this.

“We’re doing well.” Atsumu smiled, grasping Kiyoomi’s hand. “We’ve been together for over three months, as you know.”

“Sakusa-senshu, what’s it like having Miya-senshu as a boyfriend?” a woman in the front row asked.

“He’s insufferable,” Kiyoomi said bluntly. “You can’t really change that.”

Atsumu tightened his grip. “ _Babe_.”

“But he’s kinda sweet,” he amended. “He’s okay.”

“I’ll take it,” Atsumu sighed. “Omi is, well...Omi. Kind of a bitch, but he’s adorable.”

Meian palmed his face from where he was sitting on the other side of Kiyoomi.

“They’re really sweet!” Hinata supplied, leaning forward to speak into his mic. “When they think no one’s looking.”

“They’re utterly disgusting,” Inunaki countered, making Adriah snort in laughter.

Barnes cleared his throat. “Anyway. I do believe they’re in love, and the team hopes that they’ll stay that way.”

“For our own sanity,” Adriah added.

“Moving on,” Meian interrupted. “Next question?”

Maybe his teammates weren’t so bad. Ridiculous, yes, idiotic, definitely...but not bad.

\--

If anything, their popularity only soared further after that interview. Ever since they spun the ‘boyfriends’ story, they’ve been accumulating fans — sales of the team’s merch were at an all time high, particularly jerseys with ‘Miya’ and ‘Sakusa’ written at the back, and there were Instagram accounts dedicated to them now. At the back of his mind, he’d known all this.

It wasn’t until they were officially off season that it started to become so _noticeable_ , though. Probably because they were much less preoccupied with volleyball. But now he could barely look anywhere before seeing the words ‘Sakusa,’ ‘Miya,’ and ‘boyfriends’ strung together.

A funny little feeling started to unfold in him. It made him a little snappish.

“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Atsumu asked, lifting himself on his elbow to look at him. A crisp white blanket was splayed carelessly across his torso, and Kiyoomi thought it was rather unfair that he looked like a Greek sculptor’s muse right now. Even his pale hair, mussed from sleep, looked artistically styled.

“Nothing,” Kiyoomi groused.

“Do you want food or what?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you ignoring me? I’m trying to tell you about the dream I had last night.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Who cares about your stupid dream.”

“Well, fuck, fine then.” Atsumu heaved himself up and off the bed. “Come find me when you’re in a better mood.”

Breathing a little easier with Atsumu gone, Kiyoomi tried to recalibrate his brain. He felt like he’d been driving full speed with the windows down for the past three months and now he was slowing down, finding himself in unfamiliar terrain. Tucking his blankets around his naked body, he tried to retrace his steps and remember the facts.

First, he and Atsumu were fake boyfriends. Second, they were fuck buddies. Third, there had been _rules_. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall what they were.

Fourth, they had to go meet his parents in a week.

Nobody ever bothered to place a deadline on this act, so he wasn’t sure how long they had to keep it up. But it looked like they were far from done.

The bed was turning cold. He decided to go for a shower, trying to pull himself together. He didn’t know why he was so out of sorts — it wasn’t a good feeling.

A tad guilty for snapping at Atsumu for no reason, he went in search of him and found him cooking in the kitchen, shoulders tense and movements stiff. Feeling reconciliatory, Kiyoomi went over to him and hugged him from behind. He nuzzled the back of his neck as a silent apology.

The tension bled from Atsumu’s body. “Made you breakfast.”

Kiyoomi kissed him behind the ear in thanks and sat himself down on the dining table.

They ate their meal together, discussing their upcoming schedule.

“We still have interviews and fan meets and shit,” Atsumu said. “Though we do have a couple weeks of rest.”

“Don’t forget about dinner next week.”

Atsumu blanched. “Fuck, right. Oh god, they’ll come for me, I know they will.”

“It doesn’t matter if they hate you, it’s not like this is real.”

Atsumu stilled, gazing at Kiyoomi with wide eyes, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. A piece of egg plopped back onto his bowl of rice.

“Atsumu?” The funny feeling was back, more pressing than ever.

“Right,” Atsumu said, stabbing at his meal. “Of course.”

“We’ll have to fake it for a while more.”

“Yes, right.” Atsumu nodded, reminding Kiyoomi of a bobblehead toy. “We can do that. We’ve been...doing that.”

Kiyoomi nodded back, and the rest of their meal was spent in awkward silence, with only the sounds of their chopsticks clinking against their bowls as company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact each chapter has a title in my drafts, and this one is unofficially called 'The Calm.'
> 
> You know what follows the calm...
> 
> By the way you can thank ely for atsumu's big dick :( she insisted :(


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guessed it, this chapter is unofficially titled "The Storm." I am very uncreative so I'm using the same names I used in Stick With You for Omi's siblings.
> 
> Atsumu POV

Contrary to popular belief, Miya Atsumu wasn’t stupid.

His friends and teammates liked to call him that, and he usually didn’t mind, because his antics still pulled a laugh out of them. He minded it when the insult came from Osamu, but during those times, his twin was actually right.

This was not one of those times.

“I saw this coming a mile away,” Osamu informed him.

It was past closing time in Onigiri Miya, and the two of them were at a table, downing sake. Last time he was here, he was high on an unnamable feeling. This time, he was nursing an ache in his chest that couldn’t be drowned by alcohol.

“Good for you,” Atsumu said.

“Can’t believe it though. You really went and fell in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi, of all people.”

“Yeah, yeah.” There was no point in denying it. He’d known he was in trouble since that dumb Valentine's date, when Kiyoomi smiled at him and called him _Atsumu_. He had stayed up all night, buzzing and restless and wide-eyed at the possibilities. _What if we let it be real_ , he’d thought. But he got too greedy again. “That’s not the problem.”

“What, then? He doesn’t love you back?”

He was about to say, _Yes, that’s the problem_ , but he hesitated out of sheer disbelief.

That couldn’t be true, right? Kiyoomi had to love him, too, right? He couldn’t be the only one in this hell that was their own making. Did he misread everything? Was it all just an act? The kisses, the cuddles, the utter destruction of their walls — surely, he wasn’t alone in this. 

Surely, Kiyoomi wasn’t that heartless.

Atsumu had already seen the heart in him — it was in the way he practiced bumping the volleyball a hundred times in a row, the way he always complained about Komori but never missed a call, the way he high-fived each of their teammates now. It was in the way his face would brighten when Atsumu would show him dog videos, and the way he’d stop to pet a stray cat on the streets without a single complaint about germs. He wasn’t a nice person, but he was a good one. He liked to hide behind his boundaries, but he let Atsumu through. He let Atsumu know him.

Was Atsumu _not_ supposed to fall in love? Kiyoomi had to know what he was doing to him.

So what the hell was the problem?

“I don’t know,” Atsumu confessed. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Guess you gotta ask him then,” Osamu said.

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Osamu stared at him. “So you’re just going to mope?”

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “I’m good.”

“You’re so stupid,” Osamu said.

Atsumu tipped his glass at him and downed his drink.

When Osamu shooed him away two hours later, he stumbled into a train headed back to Osaka and slumped on an empty bench. He shifted so he could stare out the window and watch the night pass him by, feeling lost. His thoughts tripped over themselves as he tried to make sense of things.

He _wasn’t_ stupid. In fact, he was quite certain he was rather smart, and that was the problem — he was _so_ sure of himself; cocky enough to think he could outwit the odds. He changed the game, but he was the only one playing.

Because he knew what was happening while it was happening. Didn’t mean he could fight it, though. Trying to stop himself from falling in love with Kiyoomi was like trying to backtrack off the edge of the cliff when he’d already tripped over it. He had wanted so badly to believe that it could actually go somewhere, that those secret glances and sweet smiles meant something. He wanted to _keep_ Kiyoomi. Could he be faulted for that? No risk, no reward, he always told himself. It was something that bled through even in his plays in volleyball — he knew when it was worth it to take a risk, even if it failed.

 _I saw this coming a mile away_ , Osamu had said. Atsumu _didn’t_ exactly, not at first, but he knew he was about to fall before he did, and he _still_ let it happen.

Alright, maybe he was a little stupid.

When he allowed Kiyoomi into his bedroom that night and let him ride him until he couldn’t think, he admitted that maybe he was a _lot_ stupid.

\--

The automatic response to having your kite snatched away by the wind was to chase after it, fingers grasping. Unable to help himself, that was what he did.

“Aren’t you going to stay?”

Kiyoomi was standing with his back to him, tugging his shirt on. He’d turned on the light so Atsumu was treated to a show, but everything was harsh under the unforgiving fluorescent glare. “No, thank you,” Kiyoomi said, and stepped towards the door.

Atsumu sat up. “Hey. Let’s go somewhere tomorrow. I mean — we still have to keep up pretenses, right?”

Just because Kiyoomi wasn’t playing the game didn’t mean Atsumu had to stop. As far as he was concerned, neither of them had outright folded yet, so the bets were still on.

His own stubbornness was going to be the death of him.

Hesitating, Kiyoomi turned his head to the side, allowing him a glimpse of his profile. “Where?”

His mind scrambled for ideas. “Like, an aquarium maybe? You like watching jellyfish videos right?”

Kiyoomi was silent long enough to make his stomach tighten in panic. “Fine. But I don’t want to stay out for too long.”

“Okay,” he said quickly. “We can go the moment it’s open.”

Nodding, Kiyoomi stepped out of his room and shut his door with a firm click.

Atsumu slept poorly that night, and woke up with something he didn’t want to label as hope. It was too bleak and angry for that. Fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi and his fucking contradictions. _But I’m not the type to give up that easily, dammit._

Their fake date lived up to its name, for the fucking first time since they started this sham. The aquarium felt almost otherworldly, with its floor-length glass walls and creepy sea creatures staring at them with beaded eyes. Kiyoomi tucked his hands in his pockets, answered in one-liners when he felt like it, snapped whenever Atsumu tried to tease. He watched the jellyfish glide inside the tall tanks, and Atsumu watched him. Kiyoomi was wearing a mask, his face shaded with an eerie blue glow.

 _Alien_ , his mind whispered sadly. _Faraway_.

“Aren’t you tired?” Kiyoomi asked out of nowhere, keeping his eyes on the jellyfish.

“Huh?” Atsumu frowned in confusion. They'd been standing around for all of ten minutes. “Of what?”

“This whole...celebrity status thing. All the work to charm and impress and seem perfect... I mean, it's all just an act isn't it? It's all just superficial bullshit, just smoke and mirrors.”

“All this superficial bullshit feeds us,” he pointed out. “It comes with the territory; it’s just something you have to swallow if you want to stay in the game.”

“It’s exhausting. I didn’t think it could be this bad.”

If Kiyoomi was already feeling the strain after a handful of months in the industry, then Atsumu didn’t know how he’d survive the years to come. But he wasn’t going to lie and say it would get easier — after years of this, Atsumu still fumbled. And even _he_ didn’t think it could be this bad, either.

He settled with, “You get used to it.”

Atsumu managed to draw out the day by dragging Kiyoomi to the most by-the-book date activities he could think of —they went to the zoo, they had lunch, they hung out at the park.

By the end of it, Kiyoomi was clearly drained. He slumped against Atsumu’s shoulder on the train ride home.

“Atsumu,” he murmured, nuzzling his neck. “Shower then bed?”

Heart tripping all over itself, Atsumu tried to seem casual. “Sure.”

Sex with Kiyoomi was still just as pleasurable, and Atsumu kept him up all night, wanting it to last. Kiyoomi passed out right after. Atsumu cleaned them both up and tucked them under the blankets, curling his arms around him, a futile attempt to keep him still.

He must have jostled him because Kiyoomi stirred with a confused murmur. But he only cuddled closer, setting Atsumu’s heart racing. “Night, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi mumbled, slinging his arm over his waist.

How could this, in any way, be fake? Was Kiyoomi just that good an actor? He could barely hide his disdain when a sweaty Barnes, fresh from a morning run, rested an arm around his shoulders.

 _You love me too_ , Atsumu thought, staring intently at Kiyoomi’s face, lax and peaceful in sleep. He was certain of it.

But when he woke up the following morning, Kiyoomi was gone.

\--

There was no way that the dinner would go well at all, but Atsumu was determined to go down fighting. Maybe it didn’t matter to Kiyoomi, but it did to him.

He wore his best semi-formal suit because Kiyoomi said it was ‘ _just going to be casual_ ’ and like hell he would believe that. Checking his carefully styled hair one last time, he left his room so he could pace the living room.

“Can you relax, Miya? I said it was going to be fine.”

Atsumu turned towards the owner of the voice, and lost his breath at the sight before him — Kiyoomi was wearing a white turtleneck and skinny black jeans, a tweed coat bundled in his arms. His hair was slicked back, and Atsumu wasn’t prepared to see the entirety of his face, the two moles on his forehead more prominent now. Kiyoomi gazed at him with those stupid wide eyes, and Atsumu wanted to punch him.

 _How dare you look so good_ , he raged internally. _I want to hate you_.

And then, _He called me Miya_.

“Let’s go,” Atsumu said brusquely,

Winter was slowly easing into spring, but it was still chilly. That was probably why Kiyoomi scooted over to him on the shinkansen, and why Atsumu raised his arm to let him snuggle closer.

He couldn’t help the way he nosed at Kiyoomi’s forehead and pressed a little kiss there. Atsumu had missed him; they haven’t spent much time together the past week because practice was dismissed in the meantime and Yuma had allowed them a couple weeks of rest before scheduling events. He figured Kiyoomi was avoiding him, but there were still times he wanted sex, and times he wanted affection, so Atsumu was a tad bit confused.

Whatever. It was best if he just stopped thinking about it at all. So long as he doesn’t rock the boat, they could stay in this weird impasse. That was preferable than breaking them completely, which was highly possible, fragile as they were now.

He didn't want it all to end yet. 

A few hours later saw them walking along a busy street, only to stop at the two familiar figures standing outside the restaurant. There was Komori, of course, but the other one…

“ _Suna_?” he exclaimed.

His old friend lifted a hand. “Yo.”

“The hell are you doing here?”

Komori linked his arm around Suna’s. “He’s the secret boyfriend, but don’t tell anyone.”

“What?” Kiyoomi seemed caught off-guard for once. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me about you and Atsumu-kun either!” Komori accused. “I had to find out through social media!”

Ah, right, Komori didn’t know it was all a sham, because Kiyoomi didn’t want to disappoint him. Or he was too lazy to explain — one of those, or both.

“So, let’s go in?” Suna invited, unbothered as always.

Atsumu turned wide eyes to Kiyoomi, who patted his shoulder and said, “You’ll be fine.”

He did feel better that their friends were here, but whatever comfort they brought was swept away by the sight of Kiyoomi’s family seated inside the restaurant. It only took a glance for him to see where Kiyoomi got his looks — only his father was the outlier with his brown hair and green eyes. The rest of them had inky black hair and pale skin, and they were all very, very intimidating.

He was suddenly glad that he dressed up.

Kiyoomi’s manners seemed to kick in, because he led the introductions. After some bowing and some shuffling, they were all settled around the table.

Awkwardness reigned as they all stared at each other wordlessly.

It was Komori who broke the silence. “Hey, congrats on the championship you two.”

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi said. Atsumu just nodded.

“I’m surprised you still managed it, distracted as you have been,” Kiyoomi’s mother said.

 _Okay, here we go_ , Atsumu thought. That took no time at all.

“We haven’t been distracted,” Kiyoomi said. “I told you that Atsumu and I could be professional about it, and we have been. And we work well together, both as a couple and as teammates.”

“We wouldn’t do anything to risk our respective careers,” Atsumu felt the need to assure her.

Her icy gaze locked on him. “This is the new one, Kiyoomi?”

 _Huh?_ Atsumu blinked. _New one?_

“He’s a lot different, but he’s got looks I suppose.” That was Kiyoomi’s older sister, Aiko. She had her head tilted to the side and was watching him curiously. Beside her, the older brother Kano was sipping on his wine, looking bored.

“Don’t let this affect your career, that’s all I ask,” Kiyoomi’s father said. “This was the path you chose, I wish to see you follow through with it.”

“Of course,” Kiyoomi said. But his mother’s expression remained sour.

“Kiyoomi, if you must be with a male athlete, why not stay with Wakatoshi-kun? I actually liked that old boyfriend of yours,” she said.

And, just — _what_? Atsumu caught the eye of Suna, and then Komori, and it hit him that they both looked uncomfortable but unsurprised. _They knew_ , he realized.

Apprehension coiling in him, he let his gaze travel to Kiyoomi, who was stiff as a board beside him, hands clasped tightly on his lap.

“Mother, you have to let that go. We’ve been broken up for two years.”

“But he was such a fine, young man. Well-mannered, refined, polite...truly a gentleman. And you were so happy with him!”

“You met him twice,” Kiyoomi muttered. “Can you drop it? This is supposed to be a nice dinner.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation.”

Komori cleared his throat. “Oh, you know I was hanging out with Wakatoshi-kun recently!”

Irritation spiked in Atsumu’s chest. Just when the topic could have been dropped, Komori had to draw it out.

Perking up, Kiyoomi’s mother turned to her nephew. “Oh? How is he, Motoya-kun?”

“Good,” Komori said earnestly. “We actually meet up every once in a while, since the Adlers are based here in Tokyo, too. He’s considering joining a foreign team.”

“That’s wonderful!” She turned to Atsumu. “What about you?”

Her sharp gaze pinned him in place. Still reeling from the revelation that Kiyoomi and Ushijima had a past, he stammered, “I— no, no plan.”

“No plan?” Her tone made him bristle.

“No plans to move abroad for now,” he clarified defensively. He’d received offers, but so what? This was where he wanted to be for now, with his friends and family close by, surrounded by teammates he’d learned to love, in a place where there was still room for him to grow. He wasn’t done raising hell here yet; he still had his eyes on the Olympics.

“Hmm.” She spread her napkin on her lap, and it was only then that Atsumu realized that food had started to be served.

The hour dragged on, painfully slow. Atsumu focused on eating his meal, trying his best to let the light jabs and snide remarks roll off of him the way water rolled off of ducks. It was mostly Kiyoomi’s mother who had the most careless jabs, but her husband’s silence didn’t help any. Neither did Kiyoomi’s siblings’ snickers, even though they tried to pretend to include him in the _‘jokes_.’

Kiyoomi’s silence was what really got under his skin.

When they alluded to Atsumu being uneducated because he didn’t pursue a college degree, Kiyoomi just looked away. When they grilled him about his ‘loose morals’ because of a couple of tabloid articles, Kiyoomi merely picked up another sushi.

It took all of Atsumu’s restraint not to lash out, because he didn’t want to make a scene. Not here, not again. What would he even say? _Why would I waste time and money on a college degree I wouldn’t use?_ Or, _I’m more than the person the media says I am?_ That sounded defensive, and he had more pride than that.

So he stopped listening completely, sick of hearing about the perfect Ushijima Wakatoshi, and how Kiyoomi should have stayed in Tokyo, and how he and Atsumu should really stop being so ‘ _scandalous and unbecoming_ ’ in public. They must have seen the videos, then.

By the time it was over, he was close to bursting. He excused himself to go to the restroom before they left and splashed water on his face to cool his heated cheeks. Gripping the edges of the sink, he breathed deeply, trying not to slip into a meltdown, lest he started picking fights. That would just spell disaster. He was emotional and way out of his comfort zone — he would lose.

Hell, he already felt like a loser. And based on Kiyoomi’s reaction, he agreed. Did he realize Ushijima was a much better option after all? Atsumu had nothing to offer him — Kiyoomi already had money, had a promising career, anything and everything he wanted he could achieve himself. Sex? He could get that from anyone. Love? Apparently, he had more experience with that than Atsumu.

He wondered if Ushijima was rich. He must be — born in Miyagi before relocating to Tokyo, he was a private school kid turned professional volleyball player who had already gone on to play in the Olympics. It burned Atsumu to know that Ushijima got to everything he ever wanted first. Jerk probably spoiled Kiyoomi, because he could actually get on his level. The cheap chocolates Atsumu had gotten Kiyoomi for Valentine’s Day was mortifying to think about now. 

Clapping his palms against his cheeks, Atsumu exhaled and steeled himself. _One last push_ , he told himself. Then he could go home and forget this nightmare.

The city was still noisy when he stepped outside silently. He must have been _too_ silent, because none of them heard him approaching.

“When are you going to give it up? It’s got to be a joke, right?” Akio was asking Kiyoomi. “He’s so not your type.”

“I don’t really care,” Kano said. “But it does seem a little unbelievable — you two didn’t even speak during the dinner. Dude barely even talked at all. Is he, like—”

“Atsumu’s a good guy,” Suna cut in smoothly, before Kano could continue the sentence. “Smart, hardworking, dependable. I’ve known him for years, he’s fine.”

"I don't mind the boy, really," Kiyoomi’s mother spoke over Suna. "I'm sure he's an alright young man. But he's a bit below your league, isn't he, dear?"

The worst part was that it was probably true.

“Just don’t get distracted is all I ask,” Kiyoomi’s father reminded.

“You don’t have to worry about that when it comes to Atsumu,” Suna insisted. “He’s the most hardworking dude I know, and he’d never risk volleyball for anything.”

“All the controversies he’d been involved in lately say otherwise,” Akio pointed out.

“No, but—”

Atsumu knew there was a reason he always loved Suna, even though he was a little shit.

But he never wanted anyone to fight his battles for him. Temper dangerously teetering over the point of no return, he cleared his throat to cut the conversation. “Good dinner,” he said a tad bit sarcastically, once all eyes were on him. Not bothering to mask his insincerity, he added, “Nice meeting you.”

“Atsumu—” Kiyoomi began.

“That must be your car,” he continued, nodding at the van stalling by the sidewalk. “Good luck with the traffic on the way home.”

Kiyoomi’s mother narrowed his eyes at him, then turned to her son. “Well, we must go. Keep in mind the things we said.”

They exchanged stiff goodbyes. Kiyoomi’s family all trooped into a van and a moment later, they were gone.

Suna whistled. “Yo, that was...more horrible than I expected. Holy shit, thank god they didn’t grill me as much.”

“They had a...different priority,” Komori said. “Hey, Atsumu-kun, you alright?”

“Fine,” he bit out, anger flaring at the question. “All those backhanded compliments were really damn fun, especially since my _boyfriend_ didn’t even say a single word to defend me.”

“Don’t be a jerk to Komori.” From the corner of his eye, he could see Kiyoomi frowning at him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Oh,” he scoffed incredulously. “ _Now_ you wanna talk?”

“Dude.” Suna squinted at him. “You’re getting into one of your episodes again. Not here, man.”

“How about let’s all get some dessert?” Komori offered, waving a hand in a placating manner. “We can all talk about it. That was a rough dinner, huh? But I swear they’re not that bad—”

“Not bad,” Atsumu repeated. “Yeah, I totally wanted to spend the night listening to how Ushijima’s so much better than me. Which — what the fuck?” He glared at Kiyoomi. “Why didn’t I know you were a thing?”

“Wait, you didn’t?” Komori looked confused. “They were together for nearly three years.”

Three years. Three _years_.

Wow. It’s been a while since he felt like a goddamn joke.

“How fucking nice that I was the last to know,” he said lightly, fury turning him into ice.

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi began. “I me— Atsumu, _wait_.”

But he was already stalking off, a weight in his chest making it difficult to breathe. A three-year relationship, huh? Their three-month fuck buddy arrangement was nothing compared to _that_. Good to know Kiyoomi could stand to be with someone for that long, when he could barely even look at Atsumu now. Unless he wanted sex. _That’s all I’m good for, I suppose_.

How in love did Kiyoomi have to be to stay with someone for three years? What did he have to fucking _do_? To assume that Kiyoomi felt the same way as him felt ridiculous after everything he’d learned tonight.

Atsumu weaved blindly through the busy streets, finding some comfort in being lost in the crowd. It was dark, but the night was never dead in Ginza, and he kept walking until a hand gripped his arm and yanked him back.

He turned to face an angry Kiyoomi, who proceeded to drag him into a narrow and quiet alley.

“Are you a child?” Kiyoomi demanded when they came to a halt. “Storming away like that? We have a train to catch in half an hour, you can’t just do this shit.”

“ _You_ can’t just talk down on me like that.” He ripped his arm out of his hold. _Don’t lose your temper, don’t lose your temper._ “Whatever, let’s just get to the fucking station and wait there.” 

Kiyoomi stared at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with _me_?” Atsumu laughed at the idiocy of the question. “Are you fucking serious? Stop playing pretend with me, Omi. You know what’s wrong.”

“What? I don’t—”

“I just spent the night being thoroughly humiliated by your stuck-up family,” he enunciated slowly. “And you let them.”

Kiyoomi ran his hand over his face. “Look, Miya, I — we don’t have the best relationship—”

“So fucking what? You wouldn’t even stand up for me?”

“It wasn’t _worth_ it.”

The words hit Atsumu like a wall of bricks, and he stood stock still for a long second, reeling. Then he laughed humorlessly. “Nice.”

“I just _meant_ —”

“Save it,” he bit out. “Not like I didn’t already know I didn’t matter to you.” That had become abundantly clear. It was idiotic of him to even consider otherwise.

“Why,” Kiyoomi hesitated, “why do you sound so upset about that.”

“You can’t _seriously_ be that stupid. You know what, Omi, _fuck you_ for ruining everything. One moment, we were doing just fine, the next we’re—”

“What?” Kiyoomi challenged.

“Nothing.” He deflated. ”We’re...nothing.”

“That’s right, because we are. Have you forgotten?” Kiyoomi’s eyes were sharp, and his words cut like a knife, puncturing the boat that Atsumu had been too scared to rock. They were sinking. It felt both inevitable and preventable.

The tone of Kiyoomi's voice only served to make Atsumu angrier — he’d had enough of being treated like he was an idiot for the night. It poked at the part of him that was _sure_ he didn’t misread the signs. Carried away by his emotions, he made the leap before he could think twice about it.

“You can’t mean that,” he insisted. “We had something.”

Kiyoomi briefly shut his eyes and looked down, scratching at his eyebrow. “Miya. It’s just an arrangement.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “It stopped being that for me.” 

“Then that’s on you.”

In the ensuing silence, Atsumu practically heard his heart breaking.

So this was what it’s like, losing at his own game. Was this karma for all the hearts he’d treaded on over the years? How could he fall so short just when he was finally reaching for someone that mattered? A small part of him thrashed against the pressing defeat, fought to swim back to the surface even as their tattered boat tugged him deeper into the vast nothingness.

“Omi,” he said, pitching his voice low so it wouldn’t crack. Trying one last time. "Did it really mean nothing to you?”

Kiyoomi looked back up at him, and his face might as well have been etched in stone. “I think it’s best we don’t do this anymore.” Unmindful of the broken pieces he was leaving behind, Kiyoomi turned and started walking away.

“That’s it?” Atsumu blurted out despite himself. Anger and helplessness warred in him. “I fucking _love_ you, alright!”

Kiyoomi’s steps faltered, and it was enough for hope to soar in Atsumu’s chest. But Kiyoomi kept walking.

He didn’t even look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you were looking forward to this dinner! Hope you enjoyed the meal.....


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I previously wrote Ushijima as born in Tokyo but then proceeded to write him as hailing from Miyagi so I went and corrected the Tokyo bit. Sorry bout that! My brain is mush
> 
> Also I twist canon in this bit. I mean obviously but...well
> 
> OMI POV

It started with the slam of the ball on the court — _Itachiyama’s_ side of the court, signaling their loss against their Nationals rivals, Inarizaki High School. Wiping his forehead beaded with sweat, team captain and popular setter Miya Atsumu smirked at Kiyoomi across the net.

And his heart skipped a beat.

 _I’m gonna get you_ , he thought, watching Atsumu bound over to his twin in glee. _Next time, I’m gonna beat the pants out of you_.

Quite a lot of things had happened since then and Kiyoomi had all but forgotten about the infuriatingly cute setter with the piss blonde hair. And yet here they were, five years later, and Kiyoomi was finally able to say that he made good on his promise.

But this wasn’t the way he wanted to win, because he felt like the biggest loser of all.

_I fucking love you, alright?_

Trust Atsumu to go off script. And trust Kiyoomi to ruin everything.

He stared at the headline that read ‘ _Trouble in paradise? Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi spotted having a heated argument_.’ There were others that followed a similar vein, and those were the kindest ones, because they were published by news websites. Tabloids published headlines such as, ‘ _Volleyball stars Miya Atsumu and Sakusa are breaking up!_ ’ and ‘ _SakuAtsu no more? Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi cause a scene in Tokyo_.’

“Mind explaining yourselves?” An extremely unimpressed Yuma had her arms crossed as she stared at them expectantly. Foster sat on the desk chair of his office, looking troubled.

“It was just an argument,” Kiyoomi tried.

“A public argument,” Yuma pointed out. “In _Ginza_. Smack in the middle of a hotspot, really?”

“We just got carried away.”

“Yeah, you two keep doing that. That’s how we got here in the first place, remember? Except it’s an even bigger deal now because you two got so popular.” Yuma sighed, massaging her temple. “You should know _better_ by now.”

“How do we fix it?” Foster asked.

“Well, the team’s interviews and guest appearances are about to take place.” Yuma sounded bothered. “They’ll just have to fake it.”

Atsumu snapped his head up. “Fake—?”

“Fake that you’re fine, fake that you’re better than ever. It will all blow over once they get new material. Couples have arguments anyway.”

“But—”

“You gotta dial it up,” Yuma ordered sternly. “Don’t allow room for doubt.”

“I don’t want any part in this anymore,” Atsumu said in a hard tone. “Seriously, I’m out.”

“We have no choice, we have to direct the narrative somehow,” Yuma pointed out. “You know people will jump on this and find different ways to use it against you.”

Atsumu’s shoulders curved in defeat.

“What were you two fighting about?” Foster asked, trailing his eyes from Atsumu to Kiyoomi.

“Just stuff about my family,” Kiyoomi answered quickly. “I also lied to them about us being a couple. We had dinner with them, it didn’t go well.”

Foster nodded slowly. “Alright. You two better make up soon, if you want to fool the world. Oh, and don’t forget the victory party tomorrow night, hmm?”

“Yes, Coach,” they said together.

“Don’t get too wild,” he reminded. “Or drunk, because your first TV interview is scheduled the following day at lunch.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Now get out of here and fix your mess.”

The weather outside was pleasant, but the air between them was anything but. The cutting words exchanged the night before bore down on them uncomfortably, pressing against the tightness in Kiyoomi’s chest.

Licking his lips, Kiyoomi began, “I didn’t—”

The sound of footsteps stomping away cut him off. Atsumu refused to even spare him a glance, acting for all the world like he couldn’t get away from Kiyoomi fast enough.

And that was...fair.

What was he supposed to say anyway? _I didn’t mean it_? Even if he hadn’t meant the words, they did their job — his intentions were met.

He had no choice now but to follow through.

\--

Komori was yelling at him. It had been going on for so long that Kiyoomi had more or less tuned out, that is until his full name was called. He returned his attention to his phone screen, which displayed Komori’s face, flushed with anger.

“...Sakusa Kiyoomi, are you listening? I can’t believe you lied to me — you lied to your whole family, oh my _god_ — I can’t believe you of all people would go along with this plan!”

“We did what he had to,” he said stubbornly, jutting out his chin. He had finally come clean to Komori after that disastrous dinner, because his cousin wouldn’t stop nagging. While they weren’t the closest, Komori was still the person who knew him best, and Kiyoomi had known the jig was up the moment Atsumu stormed away.

Finding himself needing to talk about it, Kiyoomi ended up spilling the beans about everything, including the fuck buddies arrangement and fight in the alley.

“And hurting Atsumu-kun, was that another thing you had to do?” Komori demanded.

“Look, that — that’s a different matter entirely. It all just...got away from us.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“ _Everything_.”

“God, you are as difficult as the day I met you,” Komori huffed.

“We were babies.”

“Exactly. Emotional maturity, where?”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “It will blow over. All of it.” All their scandals, all their mistakes, all their misplaced feelings.

Because that’s what they were, right? Misplaced, misguided, miscalculated feelings.

“Did none of it really matter to you?” Komori’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“I—”

“And don’t give me bullshit. I saw your expression during the dinner, I know you didn’t like how your mother was talking. I thought you were going to snap, honestly.”

“I don’t—”

“What?”

The rest of the words stopped on their way out of his mouth. He _had_ been upset during that dinner; the entire goddamn affair was a mistake. What was he thinking, throwing Atsumu to the wolves? No matter how thick-skinned Atsumu was, his family always had a way of hitting where it hurts. They had done it to Kiyoomi for years, and he was _still_ traumatized.

He had thought that the 300 miles he’d placed between him and his family were enough for him to build a tolerance against them, but he was so wrong. The moment they started with the quips and the side comments, he’d locked up, and it only got worse when his mother started bringing up Wakatoshi.

It was akin to having front seats to a trainwreck. Tangled up in his jumble of emotions — the strain of being with his family, the reminder about Wakatoshi, and his conflicted feelings about Atsumu — he’d been powerless to stop the crash.

Komori scrutinized him with a look. “Tell me here and now that you don’t give a shit about him, then. Don’t you miss him at all?”

What kind of question was that? “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I’m just saying, I know all your expressions and I’ve seen that one before, but only with one other person. It _legitimately concerns_ me that I’m seeing you like this again.”

He didn’t want to ask, but a part of him wanted to know just how far the damage went. “Like what?”

“Like you’re in love and you’re self-destructing.”

And he was officially done listening. “I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

“Hey, wait — you’re going to the victory party, right?”

Kiyoomi blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Well, yeah. I kind of have to.”

The V. League season was always capped off by a victory party, held some time after the championship at the homebase of the winning team. Since it was the MSBY Black Jackals’ win, the event was going to be held in Osaka. All teams who participated in the games were invited, though not all made it yearly.

He realized that meant he’d see his cousin and Suna soon. They were probably looking forward to chewing him out some more.

But Komori surprised him once again by saying, “So, Ushijima-kun will be there, huh?”

Kiyoomi shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. “I suppose.”

“You should talk to him.”

“What.”

“I just think it’s about time that you did.”

What was it with Komori and his persisting need to fix everything in Kiyoomi’s life? “Can you just butt out? I can handle my own business.”

But Komori wasn’t one to be easily deterred. He insisted, “You’re letting the past affect your present. Just talk to him. And then talk to Atsumu.”

“ _Goodbye_ , Komori.”

He tossed his phone across the bed and splayed himself across his pillow with a huff. He was so _sick_ of people telling him what to do. What did Wakatoshi have anything to do with this? They’ve barely even spoken in two years.

Not for lack of trying on Wakatoshi's part. In fact, he’d been trying again lately — enough to make Kiyoomi consider blocking his number. But if he did that, Wakatoshi would know, and would assume that Kiyoomi was lying when he said, _‘Yes, we’re fine, I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me.’_

For all intents and purposes, it was a mutual and civil breakup. Kiyoomi had developed a crush on Wakatoshi when they were in middle school, born out of admiration for his strength on the court and discipline out of it. The feeling followed him throughout high school, only strengthening when the two of them became friends.

When Wakatoshi moved to Tokyo to join the Adlers and asked him out freshman year of university, Kiyoomi didn’t hesitate in saying yes. He suffered through all the indignities of being in love — the sweaty palms, the erratic heartbeat, the butterflies in the stomach — and was relieved when their relationship softened into a steady routine. A consistent presence that provided him warmth and comfort.

But he got too used to it. That was why he didn’t see the end coming.

He should have seen the signs, though. After all, who would fly all the way to Paris for a _‘friend’_?

Wakatoshi could never be unfaithful, he’d known that even then. Kiyoomi believed him when he said that nothing was going on between him and his high school friend, Tendou Satori. But he only needed to take one glance at the pair of them during Shiratorizawa’s high school reunion to see that he’d already lost Wakatoshi.

That perhaps he never really had him in the first place.

Breaking up was easy, even though Wakatoshi actually shed tears and asked him ‘ _don’t do this, please_.’ They talked it through in a coffee shop in Tokyo, Wakatoshi fresh from training and Kiyoomi exhausted from finals.

“You can’t tell me you have no feelings for him,” Kiyoomi finally said.

Wakatoshi paused. Then he said, “I didn’t when I first invited you out for dinner. I would not do that to anyone, Kiyoomi.”

“I know.” That was probably the worst part of all — that he had Wakatoshi first, but he wasn’t enough to keep his interest. Kiyoomi simply had no power to grasp him and make him stay.

“I love you,” Wakatoshi told him. “I’m willing to work this through with you.”

Of course he was. That was just the kind of person Wakatoshi was. But Kiyoomi was not one to waste effort for lost causes.

And there was a shine in Wakatoshi’s eyes that wasn’t there before, and it wasn’t because of the tears.

“We should just end this,” Kiyoomi said with no room for argument.

They had been together long enough for Wakatoshi to understand that there was no changing his mind. “If that’s what you wish.”

“It is.”

“Will you be alright?” Wakatosh’s expression faltered. “Will _we_ be alright?”

“Yes, we’re fine, I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Wakatoshi seemed to take his words to heart because he and Tendou started dating a few months later.

Two months, to be exact. A three-year relationship replaced after a mere _two months_. Meanwhile, it’s been two _years_ for Kiyoomi and he was still smarting at the memory.

Because breaking up was easy. No, it was the aftermath that was the hard part — waking up to no new messages from Wakatoshi, only ‘ _You alright?_ ’ texts from Komori. Dressing up for their Friday dates, only to undress right after because those were gone now, too. Automatically checking the Schweiden Adlers’ social media accounts to see if they had new promo materials that featured his ex-boyfriend.

Staring at the _‘Ushijima Wakatoshi’_ in his contacts, wondering if it was too late to take everything back, because he _missed_ him, dammit. He never knew what it was like to miss someone, not until Wakatoshi’s steady presence dissipated into thin air. He never knew that it was like dying slowly inside.

He tried to go through the motions each day, because what choice did he have but to fake it until it became real? But it simply wasn’t that easy. He didn’t realize he was spiraling until his grades were suffering and his performance in his university team’s official matches was slipping.

It took him nearly getting kicked out of the team for him to snap out of it. He called Komori and finally confessed that he hadn’t been doing well, and with his help, he slowly but surely got back on his feet. Kiyoomi graduated from college with above average grades and the title of MVP of collegiate volleyball, got into a professional team of his own — _far_ from Wakatoshi — and barely even thought about him now. But he never allowed himself to enter another relationship, and always made sure he was careful about all his sexual affairs.

Relationships were a distraction from the one goal that mattered: volleyball.

Realistically, he knew that it was possible to balance both. Just look at Wakatoshi — he and Tendou were still going strong after two years, and the latter was based in _Paris_. They were out to the public, so it was already vastly different from what Kiyoomi and Wakatoshi had.

Seeing their posts online always turned his stomach. And just the thought of letting himself be vulnerable for another person made a broken little piece of him scream in protest.

As he stared at the empty side of the bed that he’d started thinking of as Atsumu’s, he admitted that perhaps he wasn’t as over it as he thought.

\--

Dread thrummed in his veins as they neared the venue where the party was arranged to be held. It was a closed door event, no fans nor media allowed, which was just as well because based on the stories Bokuto used to tell, they would all have tattered reputations should the public ever find out what went on during these things.

They were all determined to be well-behaved tonight, though, and they even dressed extra nice for the occasion. Kiyoomi felt suffocated in his suit, and he tucked his sweaty hands in his pocket, heartbeat drumming against his throat.

He’d be hard pressed to pinpoint the cause of his internal storm — was it Atsumu’s confession, the words _‘I love you_ ’ still plaguing him? Was it the knowledge that Wakaotshi would be there, likely with his plus one? Everything was happening too fast; Kiyoomi would like a breather, but that was impossible now — he was smack in the middle of the whirlwind of the mess he’d gotten himself into.

Case in point, he had barely stepped into the wide ballroom when a figure loomed in front of him.

“Kiyoomi.”

Steeling himself, Kiyoomi raised his gaze to meet familiar olive eyes. Wakatoshi looked good — he was suited up for the occasion, tailored clothes highlighting his wide shoulders, broad chest, and all around imposing figure. His hair was brushed back to accentuate his sharp features, and for a confused second, Kiyoomi lost his breath because he’d forgotten just how handsome the man was. It was almost unfair.

“Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi greeted, a beat too late.

“Ushijima-san, hey!" Hinata chirped happily, flitting up to him from behind Kiyoomi. “Where’s Tendou-san?”

Wakatoshi gestured behind him. “With the rest of the team. He’s been looking forward to seeing you again, Hinata-kun.”

“I wanna say hi, too!” Bokuto said. And then he and Hinata were running off.

Meian came up to Wakatoshi and patted his shoulder. “Good game. Glad to see you here.”

Wakatoshi nodded. “I was hoping to speak to Kiyoomi.”

Atsumu scoffed and brushed past them, disappearing into the crowd, and Kiyoomi tried not to let his gaze linger on him. The rest of the team followed, looking vaguely confused. Before long, Kiyoomi was left alone with his ex-boyfriend.

It took all of his control not to make excuses and hurry away. Wakatoshi seemed to sense his reluctance because he straightened and took a step closer. “Kiyoomi. May we talk? Please?”

He was cornered. “Yes, of course. Should we step out?”

“That would be preferable.”

They pushed open the heavy door, letting it swing shut behind them, muting the murmur of conversations inside. Side by side, they navigated the silent hallways, careful not to look at each other.

Wakatoshi stopped at the end of a hallway, beside a wooden table with a glass vase full of artificial flowers inside. There was a mirror hanging from the wall, and Kiyoomi opted to stare at that instead.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” Wakatoshi said.

“I do apologize, it’s been a bit hectic lately.”

“I understand. Aside from the V. League, there’s your new relationship with Miya.”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi said, the word tasting like ashes on his tongue. He never enjoyed lying, and he enjoyed lying to Wakatoshi even less.

“I suppose I should congratulate you.”

That had Kiyoomi turning his head to look at him. “For the championship or the boyfriend?”

“Both. But I’ll be honest…” Wakatoshi trailed off, a crack on his normally impassive face appearing.

Kiyoomi was suddenly intensely curious about what he wanted to say. “Yes?”

“I didn’t like hearing about the...boyfriend,” Wakatoshi murmured. “I was...upset. But that was unfair of me. I’ve come to terms with it, and I _am_ happy for you, Kiyoomi. Truly.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to make of that. “Thank you.”

“Is he treating you well? He has a bit of a reputation.”

His stomach lurched in protest. “He is. He’s not that bad.”

“No?”

“He _isn’t_. Atsumu is —” Insufferable. Obnoxious. Annoyingly considerate, surprisingly thoughtful, unexpectedly sweet. There was a noose wrapping around Kiyoomi’s neck, making it difficult to breathe. “A good boyfriend.”

_But which parts of it were real? I love you, Atsumu had said. But how could he, when whatever fragile thing we had were built on lies?_

“I’m pleased to hear it. I thought you didn’t get along.”

“We didn’t, not at first,” Kiyoomi conceded. “But then...we did.” He remembered one of the rules now: ‘ _no being friends_.’ They broke that early on, and it had been a string of rule-breaking since then.

‘ _Don’t forget this is all a sham_ ’ was another one. And the biggest, most important one: ‘ _no catching feelings_.’

They were the stupidest people on the planet. They barely had rules to this but they broke them all anyway.

And he was the biggest idiot, because he’d been too deep in denial to acknowledge the signs. The sweaty palms, when Atsumu would hold his hands. The erratic heartbeat, when Atsumu gave him flowers. The butterflies in the stomach, when Atsumu would kiss the two moles on his forehead.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He tried to fight it too late. He already got used to him.

He’d already fallen in love with him.

Whichever way they go now, it was going to hurt. Kiyoomi had tried to take the more painless road, but the sick feeling that threatened to choke him since that night in Tokyo told him he made a mistake.

But what was the other option? Risk everything for something that had zero assurance of working out? What kind of foundation was a drunken one night stand that turned into a full blown charade? Wasn’t that like building a house of sticks on top of the ocean?

“And you’re happy?” Wakatoshi asked, tugging on Kiyoomi’s attention.

_No, I’m not. I miss him._

When he didn’t answer, Wakatoshi pressed, “Does he make you happy?”

And Kiyoomi never liked lying to him. “Yes.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” A sad smile. “And I’m happy you’re speaking to me again.”

Guilt lodged itself in Kiyoomi’s chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright. I deserved it. I did understand that but I— forgive me, Kiyoomi, but I missed you. It was selfish of me, I know. It wasn’t as easy as I thought, getting used to your absence.”

The noose was getting tighter. “It was difficult for me, too.” _It almost ruined me_ , he didn’t say.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you. It pained me all this time, thinking that you must hate me, that I might have hurt you irrevocably.”

Kiyoomi wanted to say that no, you didn’t cause that much damage. But that would be a lie. So he finally let the question he’d long buried in his chest bubble out. “How could you move on so easily? How did you decide to just...try again, with another person?”

“Because there was no point in hesitating.” Forehead creasing, Wakatoshi studied him intently. “People won’t always be waiting in the wings. And Satori...had been waiting for a long time.”

“So you felt sorry for him, that’s it?”

“No, I felt sorry for us. For what we could be. I felt I owed it to him, to the both of us, to try. And I loved you, I _love_ you, but you chose to end it, Kiyoomi.”

Bitterness burned in his chest, laced with an old pain. “There was a light in your eyes that even I couldn’t bring out, Wakatoshi. Maybe you didn’t see it, but I did. You were never going to love me the way you loved him.”

“Maybe,” Wakatoshi allowed. “Then again, maybe not. You’re not supposed to just let go when you love someone, Kiyoomi. You’re supposed to chase after them and make it work. I think maybe...we didn’t love each other enough for that. I’ve made mistakes, and I regret them. But don’t tell me I didn’t love you, because I did. And I always will.”

Kiyoomi blinked rapidly and sniffled, willing away the ache. He was supposed to be over this, dammit. It’s been two years. There was simply no use being this upset over something that was long over. “It just wasn’t enough, I guess,” he said in defeat. In acceptance.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your _fault_ , Wakatoshi.” For once, Kiyoomi meant it, recognizing the words as true. “I could hardly blame you for falling out of love.”

“It’s not your fault either,” Wakatoshi said, and the words had Kiyoomi snapping his jaw shut.

Tears were brimming in Kiyoomi’s eyes now. “Whose, then?”

“No one’s.” Wakatoshi’s tone was firm. “It’s just how it is. Why, did you choose to fall in love with Miya?”

“No.” If he could reverse it, he would. But it was already done.

“I’ve realized that love has no rhyme or reason, but it does have a way of working out in the end.”

Kiyoomi doubted that, but he wasn’t about to burst his bubble. Instead, he settled for asking, “You’re happy?”

Wakatoshi nodded.

And that was...alright. Kiyoomi felt _alright_ , the noose around his loosening, the tightness in his chest easing. It was a relief, finally getting closure. He had been avoiding this for so long, rationalizing that he was running towards something instead of away — but he was realizing now that the only way to attain the peace he’d longed for was to wade through the skeletons.

He sighed, and it felt like he could breathe for the first time in two years. “Good.”

When Wakatoshi opened his arms, Kiyoomi didn’t hesitate in stepping into them. He let the familiar warmth of his old friend envelop and comfort him, age old knots smoothing out. 

The thing about healing was that it could never happen overnight. He’d been doing his best for two years now, but all he’d done was close the wound around the thorn.

Now that the thorn was removed, he could finally move a little easier. It was going to be tender for a while, but he’d be fine, eventually.

“If he hurts you, I’ll beat him up,” Wakatoshi said, squeezing him.

Kiyoomi snorted wetly at that, hugging Wakatoshi around the shoulders. “You could never beat anyone up, Toshi.” The dude was the very definition of a gentle giant.

“I’d do it for you.”

Kiyoomi rested his cheek on Wakatoshi’s shoulder, wanting nothing more than to tell him about what’s been going on between him and Atsumu. How he didn’t really think much of him at first but slowly learned to need him, unwittingly lowering his walls. Kiyoomi had developed something close to adoration for the idiot and it disgusted him somewhat. But how would he tell Wakatoshi that he was the one to end the unnamed thing they had between them in a moment of panic? That would only upset him.

“I missed you,” he said instead.

“I missed you, too.”

Kiyoomi thought that maybe he was ready to let it all go now and maybe, just maybe, start fresh. He felt lighter than he had in ages, and he was struck with the compulsion to see Atsumu — he was ready to face him now. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell him everything yet, but he at least owed him an apology. Smiling, he let his eyes stray back to the mirror.

And what he saw there had his blood running cold. Through the reflection, he could see Atsumu glaring at the two of them hatefully.

Heart kicking back to life, Kiyoomi straightened, Atsumu’s name on the tip of his tongue.

But when he turned around to call out to him, Atsumu had his back to him, already out of reach.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath
> 
> Omi POV

For the first time in his life, Kiyoomi finally found something worth chasing that wasn’t a volleyball.

But no amount of chasing could capture something that didn’t want to be caught.

How Atsumu managed to give Kiyoomi the slip for the rest of the night when they were in the same damn party baffled him. He’d be horsing around with Hinata and Bokuto one second and then gossiping with Suna and Aran the next, but every time Kiyoomi tried to approach, he’d be off like a shot.

“Atsumu, wait,” he said, when he managed to get close enough to him at the buffet table. He touched his arm, but he was violently shaken off, and then Atsumu was gone.

Irritation crawled up his throat, but Kiyoomi decided to play the waiting game. Eventually, Atsumu’s movements became sloppier, signaling that he was drunk. His already grating laugh got more obnoxious, his irritating accent became more pronounced, and Kiyoomi wanted to knock him out and drag him to his bedroom and leave him there to rot.

When he finally got his hands on him — much later in the night when Atsumu’s avoidance slowed — Kiyoomi slammed him against a wall, using his body as a shield from potential onlookers.

“Did you forget that we’re faking being in a relationship here?” he hissed furiously, patience having been stretched too thin.

“How can I fucking forget when you’re always reminding me these days,” Atsumu drawled with that forced casualness Kiyoomi always hated. “And get off your high horse. Did you think about that when you were — when you were — _canoodling_ with Ushijima?”

“I was doing no such thing,” Kiyoomi scoffed, highly offended. “I’m not like _you_.”

Atsumu straightened at that, hazy eyes clearing a little. He shoved off Kiyoomi’s hands from his coat. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m saying between the two of us, I’m not the fuckboy with the shitty reputation.” The scathing words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Atsumu laughed as if Kiyoomi had said something truly funny. “Ah, that damn reputation again. So what if I like having sex, huh? I distinctly remember you begging for it.” All humor disappeared from Atsumu’s face abruptly. He pushed himself off the wall and knocked Kiyoomi aside as he brushed past him. “You were the one who said it was all just smoke and mirrors. For a supposedly smart dude, you’re surprisingly stupid.” Over his shoulder, he called out, “Have a nice night, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi’s feet remained rooted to the ground as his mind processed what just happened. He watched as Atsumu walked towards their teammates, whispered something in Meian’s ear, punched Bokuto’s arm and took off towards the exit.

He didn’t follow, a single thought running through his mind.

_He called me Sakusa._

\--

The conversation unsettled him.

Kiyoomi didn’t bother staying until the party was over, avoiding his cousin’s eyes as he escaped through the doors. Meian said Atsumu was headed back to the sharehouse, but there was no one home when Kiyoomi arrived.

He paced in his room, spurred on by the urgent need to speak with Atsumu, intent on ripping the bandaid off once and for all. Drawing out unease was not something he made a habit of doing and this unease was bordering on suffocating. The past couple days proved it wasn’t going anywhere, so the only solution now was to face it head on. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew he owed Atsumu some honesty.

 _I fucking love you_ , Atsumu had said. It was just like Atsumu to curse him while confessing. Kiyoomi wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Besides, it was justified.

Now how hard would it be to say _‘I love you, too_ , _but please give me time because the space you take up is overwhelming me_ ’? And _‘You scare me more than I’d ever admit, but I’ll get there eventually'?_

With a huff, Kiyoomi sat down on the edge of his bed. He’d been waiting for two hours now, and the front door had yet to open for anyone else.

“I love you,” he said aloud, letting his mouth get used to shaping the words again.

It should be easy saying it to Atsumu’s face. Theoretically.

“I’m sorry,” he practiced saying, because he owed that to Atsumu, too. “I didn’t mean to be mean.”

And then in a whisper, “I panicked.” And also, “I miss you.”

He was starting to feel ridiculous now, talking to air.

An indeterminate amount of time later, the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed across the silent house and Kiyoomi jumped to his feet, anxiety washing over him. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of his room.

He felt like he should have expected the sight of Atsumu stumbling in the hallway, clothes rumpled with lipstick stains on his neck, but he didn’t. Even from where he was standing, Kiyoomi could smell the sweat and alcohol on his skin. It repulsed him, nearly bowled him over. Kiyoomi wanted to retreat to his room and slam the door shut, wanted to spend the rest of the night nursing the pinpricks that were making themselves known in his chest.

But then Atsumu looked up at him, and he was suspended.

“Oh, hey,” Atsumu slurred out, pausing in his steps.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he managed.

Atsumu let himself collapse against the wall, pretending to lounge casually and failing miserably. “Just had a few drinks in some bar. What do you care?”

Kiyoomi zeroed in on the mark on his neck, eyes burning.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Atsumu asked with a half-lidded stare. “We’re not anything, right?”

 _You did this to hurt me_ , he wanted to accuse. But so what if Atsumu did? Kiyoomi hurt him first, didn’t he? And Atsumu wasn’t the type to take that lying down. _I had this coming. I deserve this._

And Atsumu was right, they weren’t anything because he shot that down.

But it didn’t have to stay an impossibility, right? People change their minds. Would it be too out of line for him to ask for another chance? He felt like he’d been put through the wringer, suffering blow after blow for days — he was tired and aching to his very _soul_ and all he wanted now was to go _home_. But home was a bed that had Atsumu in it and he’d lost that.

Heart cracked and oozing, Kiyoomi whispered with all the bravery he could muster, “We could be.”

The ensuing silence felt like a hundred spiders were crawling up his spine. Atsumu’s gaze was disbelieving and Kiyoomi struggled to hold it. And then Atsumu scoffed out a laugh. “Oh now you want — what? To be with me?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “For real.”

“Why? Because you think I hooked up with someone and you couldn’t handle it?” Atsumu pushed off from the wall and wobbled past. “I’m too drunk to deal with this right now.”

“Did you?” Kiyoomi blurted out before he could stop himself. “H-hook up with someone?”

In the next second, he was pinned against the wall in a sick parody of the night they first got together. Atsumu’s furious eyes glared down at him, his hand clutching the collar of Kiyoomi’s shirt. “And what if I did?”

Resentment bubbled up in his chest, clogging his throat. He didn’t speak, Atsumu’s presence overwhelming him. He was hot to the touch — the feel of him sent a wave of heat down Kiyoomi’s body.

“You’re saying you want me now?” Atsumu asked, his breath which stank of beer hitting Kiyoomi’s cheek.

And Kiyoomi didn’t want to lie anymore, even if the truth burned him. “Yes.”

Atsumu pressed his crotch between Kiyoomi’s legs. “I can tell.”

Humiliation was such an ugly feeling, he thought. Was this Atsumu’s revenge? Kiyoomi could no longer tell if the flush he felt staining his cheeks was because of shame or arousal.

His breath left him as Atsumu crushed him with his weight, and Kiyoomi knew what was coming before it did. When Atsumu started grinding against him, he sucked in a sharp breath.

And then he moaned.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

They kissed like starved animals, clawing and biting at each other, lips messy with spit, fingers digging into skin. Kiyoomi hit his head against the doorway when they stumbled into his room, and he bounced on the mattress when he was forcefully shoved down.

“Strip,” Atsumu ordered lightly, watching him as he undid his tie, which already looked like it had been previously loosened. 

Hating himself, Kiyoomi obeyed. He felt heady with fury and lust, cock already leaking, hole clenching. What did he have to do to burn out this addiction from his body? He hated that he wanted Atsumu; the only solution was to sate his hunger.

There was the sound of plastic crinkling and a bottle silently landing on the bed and then Atsumu was on top of him, wet fingers prodding at his entrance. He didn’t bother with foreplay and Kiyoomi didn’t want him to; the fingers were inside him for a second before they were replaced by a thick cock.

Kiyoomi hissed at the burn, body instinctively clenching, but he was shocked out of that when a sharp slap landed on his ass cheek.

“Loosen up,” Atsumu grunted, and Kiyoomi took a few deep breaths and forced himself to relax.

A groan was dragged from his throat as Atsumu started fucking in and out of him with rough, hard strokes. Kiyoomi spread his legs wider, nails clenching around Atsumu’s shoulders as he panted. Pleasure and pain set his nerves abuzz, and his limbs slackened without permission. He was losing control.

Atsumu was a machine, drilling into him with single-minded focus. He smelled like cigarette smoke and someone else’s perfume, and this close Kiyoomi could see the hickey under the lipstick stains. It infuriated him. He wanted to kick Atsumu off, wanted to suffocate him with a pillow, but he thought he would probably die if Atsumu pulled his dick out.

“You’re a goddamn whore for this,” Atsumu observed, slowing his thrusts as he ran his eyes over Kiyoomi’s trembling, needy body. “You’d cry if I stopped, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Kiyoomi spat out, digging his nails in further into his skin. He would leave scars if he had to.

“You asked for it.” And Atsumu delivered. Gripping Kiyoomi’s legs with his hands, Atsumu folded him nearly in half and slammed home. Over and over. Kiyoomi’s eyes rolled back into his head and mouth slackened — his body was betraying him, its need to reach the peak taking over. He uncurled his fingers from Atsumu’s shoulders and reached up to brace himself against the headboard as they started to rock the bed. He arched his back, breathing heavily as he accepted the abuse.

“Good,” he slurred out mindlessly. “So _good_.”

This only seemed to spur Atsumu on, because his thrusts turned nearly violent, punching a short scream out of Kiyoomi. “You wanna come?” Atsumu rasped out.

“Yes,” he said in a pained whisper.

“What do you say?” Atsumu sank his length in — and stalled.

Kiyoomi was about to lose his mind. He was so _close_. “ _Atsumu_.”

“What do you _say_?”

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please. I need you.”

“Fuck you,” Atsumu bit out, and started moving again, angling his hips just right. “ _Fuck_ you, Omi.” Another short thrust dragged against his prostate mercilessly and he saw stars.

The orgasm hit Kiyoomi like a freight train, blindsiding him and stealing his breath. Atsumu fucked him through it before his own body seized in pleasure and he shook between Kiyoomi’s twitching legs.

Kiyoomi had barely caught his breath when Atsumu ripped himself away, snapping off the condom and letting it drop to the floor carelessly. Kiyoomi winced, pleasure giving way for ache.

“Atsumu,” he croaked out, trying to lift himself with limp arms.

But Atsumu ignored him, hopping into his trousers, staggering a little. He didn’t bother putting on the rest of his clothes, just picked them up and slung them over a shoulder.

“Just — just wait, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said when Atsumu moved to turn away.

“Yeah, no,” Atsumu dismissed.

“ _Please_. We need to talk. I need — I want to apologize.”

Atsumu turned to face him briefly. “For what?”

“For —” he fought through the haze in his mind and tried to remember what he’d practiced, “for the dinner and what happened after. I wasn’t lying when I said my family and I don’t have a good relationship, and I wasn’t — I didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry.”

“Is that all?”

Frustration knotted Kiyoomi’s throat. Why couldn’t he be good at talking? He felt like he was racing against time, and his mouth wasn’t cooperating. “I—”

“How ‘bout apologizing for breaking my heart into pieces, huh? Or explaining that whole shit with Ushijima?”

The mention of Wakatoshi had him instantly on his guard. “Wakatoshi is in the past, I don’t — I don’t like talking about him.” One day, perhaps, when the wound has fully healed. Right now, no. “But I’m sorry about what I—”

He was cut off by a sardonic laugh from Atsumu. “You won’t even give me an inch, huh? Fuck, whatever. Just — _whatever_ , Omi.” He shook his head and started towards the door.

“Atsumu, _wait_. I do want to explain — I want to give this a try, _properly_.” But this time Atsumu wasn’t stopping. In a fit of desperation, the words fell out of his mouth. “I _love_ you, okay?”

With a hand on the doorknob, Atsumu glanced back over his shoulder. “Then that’s on you.”

Kiyoomi could do nothing but watch as Atsumu walked out of his room, the click of the door sounding like a bullet.

For an endless moment, he couldn’t move, mouth dry and body numb. When his throat started tightening, he gingerly laid back down and tugged his blankets tighter around him as if it could hold him together. He had never felt so cheap or used.

Of course, he thought dully. Of course it would turn out this way.

There was a reason he didn’t want to get attached, and this was it. He really shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been right all along — Miya Atsumu was the kind of person he needed to protect himself from. He was careless and flighty and dangerous. Somewhere between the sex and the flowers and the intoxicating kisses, Kiyoomi had forgotten that.

 _I love you_ , Atsumu said.

Wakatoshi said that too and meant it, but he left, anyway.

Kiyoomi felt bruised and aching, like he walked into a wall that he knew was there. He’d tried to swerve, but Atsumu was unavoidable. The collision was inevitable.

 _This is good_ , he tried to convince himself. _I just saved myself from further heartbreak._

The tears came later.

\--

Perhaps the worst part about the nightmare he found himself living was that it had to continue. The show must go on, as they say.

And the show just took the turn for the worse.

_‘Popular volleyball player spotted in a liplock with club stranger.’_

Just a few drinks, huh? The red marks on Atsumu’s neck were splattered in Kiyoomi’s mind like a carcass.

Kiyoomi supposed he should be grateful that the entertainment website didn’t drop any names in its report. But it was still fucking obvious who it was referring to. After all, how many Osaka-based volleyball players were supposedly ‘ _in a fresh relationship with his teammate_ ’?

Their web of lies was unraveling.

“You know the drill,” Yuma said tiredly. She was looking sharp in a pink suit, her black hair tied up in a bun. “I was going to tell them not to ask about your supposed relationship at all, but we have to address the rumors.”

Shifting uncomfortably under his blazer, Kiyoomi nodded. All he needed to do was pretend to be happily in love with his boyfriend of almost four months, spin a couple more lies, and try to act as if the world wasn’t crumbling under his feet.

As if he wasn’t paper thin and the slightest breeze would topple him.

Where did his walls go?

Staff members swarmed around them, talking in urgent voices, carrying folders and microphones and bottles of water. They were backstage of the studio, listening to the chatter of the audience, waiting for their signal to enter.

Beside him, Atsumu was adamantly quiet. Worryingly quiet.

Before he knew it, the host was saying “—this year’s V. League champions, the MSBY Black Jackals!” There was a brief moment of panic, a loud cheer in the stadium, and then they were being signaled to enter. The team flocked to the stage, waving and bowing. Kiyoomi was briefly blinded by the spotlight, and he averted his eyes, blindly staring at the large crowd. Why were there so many people? Was it just him, or was it stuffy?

Hinata nudged him gently, and Kiyoomi hastily took a seat on the sofa beside Atsumu. But the pressure of eyes on him and the large cameras capturing his every angle was already getting to him.

“...what it’s like to finally win against your biggest rivals, the Schweiden Adlers?” the host was saying. Shoji was his name, Kiyoomi believed.

“Oh, it’s wonderful, of course,” Meian answered. “It feels like it’s been years in the making…”

Kiyoomi paid attention with only half an ear, a definite no-no when it came to these things. But he couldn’t concentrate, because he was hyper aware of Atsumu’s warmth beside him, even though his body was stiff and unwelcoming.

His heart throbbed in remembered pain. _I wonder if there’s still a way to fix this_ , he thought idly. He had spent the whole night sniffling and cursing everything that was Miya Atsumu, but when dawn broke, he admitted that the worst part of it was missing him. He’d been missing him for weeks. The distance he’d been putting between them did nothing to cushion his fall — it had already been done. What was he to do? Whichever way he'd go now, it was going to hurt, wasn’t it?

Truth be told, a large part of him was already ready to give it up. Clearly, they were no good for each other — his inability to communicate coupled with Atsumu’s impatience was simply a bad mix. Haven’t they hurt each other enough already? Surely, someone out there would be better for them. Was love supposed to be this toxic?

Still, something in him insisted on doggedly clinging to the very thing he tried so hard to resist. Fucking Miya Atsumu — what was it about that guy? He was just supposed to be a good lay. He wasn’t supposed to be sweet and considerate and _doting_ ; he wasn’t supposed to indulge each of Kiyoomi’s nuisances and listen to all his rants; he wasn’t supposed to buy him skincare products and take him out on fun dates and _be there_ after a long day.

Kiyoomi was never supposed to learn to love him. He was a man whose life was built from consistent practices and routines, which was why he was picky about the things he let in. Unfortunately, he’d already unwittingly made room for Atsumu; that was clear enough from how he’d been suffering lately. He should have ended their arrangement earlier, maybe then his feelings would have been spared. But he didn’t. So now he had to fix it.

 _You’re not supposed to just let go when you love someone_ , Wakatoshi had said. _You’re supposed to chase after them and make it work._

Maybe this was worth one more shot.

 _I just need to get through this interview, then I’ll talk to him again_ , he decided. _I’ll apologize properly, explain that there was more to what he saw during the victory party. That there’s a lot more to me than what he knows._

Their past had never become part of their pillow talk — why would it? It didn’t play any important role in their arrangement. Why would anyone lay themselves bare to the teammate they were supposed to be fucking for fun? Atsumu was chatty but he was hardly a sharer. There was much Kiyoomi didn’t know about him, either. The most he heard were childhood stories with Osamu and the pranks he pulled on his old high school teammates — Kiyoomi had no clue about his dreams and plans for the future, or his thoughts on religion and politics, or what his family thought about the path he’d chosen.

 _Oh god, my family,_ Kiyoomi remembered. He had to explain his family. He had no idea where to even start with that — that was years worth of triggering memories. And Wakatoshi... apparently, the wound was still fresh, but he could try.

The thought of exposing all of his jagged, broken parts made his palms sweat and stomach tighten, but maybe Atsumu _could_ be patient with him. Maybe they could take it slow. 

And after, he swore he’d agree to all of Atsumu’s stupid cheesy date ideas. The rose petals from his Valentine’s bouquet were still pressed in between pages of Kiyoomi’s favorite books. But he would never tell Atsumu that.

Would Atsumu like flowers too?

 _God, why am I so willing to throw myself again to the same man who sliced me open last night?_ _He fucked someone else before he fucked me_.

The reminder made him sick to his stomach.

“...and that kiss when you won the match!” the host gushed, and Kiyoomi’s attention snapped back to the interview. “Miya-senshu, Sakusa-senshu, you two were trending for days.”

“Oh yeah, that was a moment,” Atsumu chuckled.

“How are you two doing, by the way?”

“Just fine.”

“Now, I have to ask, you two were trending on Twitter again this morning, and apparently the source is a blind item about you, Miya-senshu.” Shoji fixed his eyes on Atsumu, and the air onstage tightened. “Would you have any comments regarding this?”

“Ah.” Atsumu rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “There’s no easy way of saying this…”

Apprehension set off goosebumps in Kiyoomi’s skin. He frantically tried to remember what Yuma told them to say. _Pretend you’re better than ever. Don’t leave room for doubt._

They had no room to fuck up. Not now that public speculation was at an all time high. But the pause in between Atsumu’s sentences had Kiyoomi at the edge of his seat, thinking of the way their last conversation went pear-shaped. Thinking of the way Atsumu was a natural risk-taker, the way Kiyoomi never learned to be.

The stadium was so silent that one could hear a pin drop.

“I’d like to thank you all for your support,” Atsumu continued. “But I’m afraid we have some bad news for you — Omi and I broke up.”

And for the second time in his young life, Sakusa Kiyoomi’s heart shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unofficially titled 'The Unraveling' -- the next one is 'The Aftermath' and it's over 5k words (longest chapter in this fic!!) THEY HAVE A LOT OF FIXING TO DO but worry not we still have a ways to go


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu POV

The noise was suffocating him.

He’d long stopped listening to the world around him, distracted by the ringing in his ears and the resentment brewing in his chest. The rest of the interview had passed by in a blur. Vaguely, he remembered explaining that neither he nor Kiyoomi wanted to put their careers on the line, thus the decision to remain friends and teammates. For the rest of it, Atsumu had fixed a permanent smile on his face, nodding and shaking his head in turn, saying _‘yes_ ,’ _‘no_ ,’ _‘maybe’_ when prompted.

The bus rocked as it drove them back home. When the building they held the interview at was long out of sight, he stiffly tuned in to the commotion.

“...were you thinking? That wasn’t part of the plan!” Yumi’s voice was so shrill, Atsumu nearly winced.

But he held his ground. Seething, he bit out, “Maybe if you tried listening to me, I wouldn’t have had to go to extremes. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Your reputation—”

“Fuck my reputation!” he yelled, stunning everyone into silence. It was always his reputation this, reputation that. Kiyoomi was right about what he said at that stupid aquarium. “I’m so sick of this _superficial bullshit_. If everything I do is going to be demonized anyway, I don’t get why I’m still trying.”

Seemingly realizing that this wasn’t one of Atsumu’s more shallow tantrums, Yuma turned pacifying. “I understand that it can get exhausting—”

“Exhausting? It’s fucking disgusting!” Atsumu spat out, his temper effectively snapping. “I used to just be a kid who loved volleyball, now I’m a fuckboy and cheater and god knows what else they’re calling me nowadays. And you know what? I don’t give a flying fuck anymore! I’m not going along with any more goddamn charades. I’m still the fucking best setter out there, and nothing else should matter. They can choke on _that_.”

Wide eyes and gaping mouths met his rant and he glared hatefully at all of them. He wasn’t about to take any of it back because it was the truth. This was the ugly reality he’d had to face since he made the decision to go pro, and he’d dealt with it the way he dealt with everything else: armed with thick skin and single-minded determination. But he wasn’t fucking bulletproof.

This life had changed him enough, he thought. The years had taught him to bend and adjust and outright fake it out just to be more palatable — it was a drag, but he knew it was necessary so he obeyed with barely any complaints. He loved his job, and he loved his team. He was willing to go to lengths to keep them.

But offering his heart for another round of breaking was too much to ask from him.

A part of him recognized that he was being a brat right now, but he figured he was entitled for a meltdown every now and then. For the first time in a long while, he’d been completely pushed to his limits.

Foster finally stood up and nodded at Yuma. “Well. You heard him.”

Yuma blinked at their coach in indecision.

“Contact all the media outfits we’re scheduled to visit this week and ban all questions about the team’s personal lives, especially about their relationships. Tell them that one question about _‘SakuAtsu’,_ and we’re out. If they refuse to cooperate, cancel.”

Atsumu was a bit taken aback at Foster’s concession. His coach and teammates had been all for keeping up with the facade, but he realized now that this was a man who’d known him and watched him since he was eighteen.

 _Did I grow up well, Coach?_ The way things have been going lately, Atsumu doubted he’d get a good answer to that question.

Regardless, relief and appreciation spread across his chest, calming him for now.

“Alright.” Yuma didn’t look happy about it, but she was already pulling out her phone.

“You two.” Foster’s tone turned stern as he glanced at Atsumu and then Kiyoomi, who was slumped against the opposite window, acting as if he couldn’t hear a thing. “I want this fixed, whatever it is. You’re lucky we’re off season or you’d both be benched.”

With that, he sat back down as the two of them avoided each other’s eyes.

 _What a mess_ , Atsumu thought, watching the city pass by in a blur outside his window. Rationality was sinking back in as his temper abated. How could he and Kiyoomi create such a _mess_? Dammit, he just wanted to get laid that night he first kissed Kiyoomi, and now he was struggling to keep his head above the water. The amount of trouble he’d gotten himself into since that Christmas charity ball was more than the trouble he’d caused in his entire professional volleyball career _combined_.

Not to mention all the pain he’d been in behind the scenes.

And he knew it was far from over. By the time they got back home, Atsumu was prepared for war.

He headed straight to the kitchen, knowing it was Kiyoomi who was at his heels. Their teammates seemed to get the hint because they scampered to their respective rooms.

Atsumu knew he’d get an earful from them later.

He grabbed a bottle of Gatorade Zero and gulped it down. Taking a breath, he turned to face Kiyoom, who was watching him with an inscrutable expression. For a split second, his mind was plunged back to the night before when Kiyoomi’s face was vulnerable and open and sweating, but for the sake of his sanity, he buried the intrusive memory. That was a goddamn mistake.

“What?” Atsumu challenged. “Gonna tell me I fucked up?”

“You already know what you did,” Kiyoomi said evenly. “And I would have accepted it, I just wish you gave me some kind of warning first so I wouldn’t look stupid on live TV.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t exactly thinking about you when I made that decision,” Atsumu snarked.

Kiyoomi nodded. “And are you happy?”

That caught him off-guard. “What?”

“Are you satisfied? That you got what you wanted and managed to embarrass me, too?”

“I told you I wasn’t thinking about you,” Atsumu said defensively, shifting uncomfortably.

“No? Tell me that no single part of you was happy that I got run over in the process, then.”

He couldn’t answer. Because he _did_ feel a rush of petty pleasure at enacting that piece of vengeance. _I love you_ , Kiyoomi had said last night. And Atsumu wanted to hurt Kiyoomi the way Kiyoomi hurt _him_. Even though the bigger part of him just wanted to know if he meant it.

“Thought so.” Shaking his head, Kiyoomi laughed humorlessly. “You know what your problem is, Atsumu? All the fame must have gotten to your head, because it seems that you’re under the impression that the world revolves around you. In case you don’t know, it doesn’t.”

The words poked at something in him, stirring the coals. “Oh, and you’re so selfless?”

“I’m far from selfless, but at least I’m not thoughtless. There are consequences to your actions, you know. And it’s not just you who suffer them.”

“You know what,” Atsumu said dangerously. “You are so fucking self-righteous it makes me _sick_. You want to talk about consequences, Omi? _You_ started this!”

“Yes, and I'm paying for it, aren't I?” Kiyoomi’s voice was quiet. “Wasn't this what you wanted? For me to hurt? Well, congratulations. You did it.”

“You don’t get to fucking paint me as the bad guy when you’re the one who forced me into this position,” Atsumu spat out. “I don’t get you, Omi. You act like you love me, then you pull away — you’re hot then you’re cold then you let me be belittled by your _stuck up_ family — and I just wanted you to let me _fucking_ love you but _you_ walked away!”

Kiyoomi dropped his eyes. “I know. I regret it.”

“And you just had to twist the knife with the whole thing with Ushijima, didn’t you?” Atsumu barraged through. “How much more of this am I supposed to take, Omi? You’re so cruel, I literally have no words. Do you even know what you fucking did? You ground my heart into dust and spat on it, that's what it felt like.”

“I didn't mean to do that.”

Atsumu stared at him in disbelief. “Well, whether or not you fucking meant to, you _hurt_ me, Omi.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you have to _say_?”

Kiyoomi smiled and the sight was almost sad. “You ask that like you’d actually listen.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean? God — you don’t make sense!” Atsumu dragged a hand through his hair in agitation, wondering how Kiyoomi could just stand there so still he could be mistaken for a statue. “You are the most difficult person I’ve ever met. I wish I never knew you. I wish I never fucking kissed you that night. You were the worst mistake.”

Silence. It didn’t sit well with Atsumu.

“What? Nothing?” he demanded. “Are you really not going to say anything? How are we getting anywhere if we can’t even talk?”

“I don’t understand what you want from me.” For the first time since he’d known him, Kiyoomi looked brittle.

Atsumu hated that he didn’t know what he wanted either. It was usually at this point that someone would tell him to calm the hell down.

“Fuck you, Omi,” he finished lamely. His rage was sputtering to a stop, tank emptying. “Just get the hell out of here.”

Kiyoomi nodded. He turned towards the door, but paused and glanced back at Atsumu. “I still wanted to tell you — I know it was my fault, Atsumu, and I really am sorry. For my family, for Wakatoshi, and what I said in the alley — I apologize for all of it. And I wanted to explain but — it's become increasingly clear that it would require more patience and time than you could give.”

Atsumu stared at him in bewilderment. Why the fuck was Kiyoomi so confusing? Nobody had ever made Atsumu's head spin this way.

 _I love you_ , Kiyoomi said last night. Was Atsumu supposed to believe he meant it? It sounded impossible when Atsumu first heard it, high on alcohol and hurt and fury as he was. It sounded like something Kiyoomi would say just to make Atsumu stay.

How can someone who claims to love him swallow his family's mocking remarks and pointing fingers and say, 'It wasn't worth it'? That couldn't be love, could it?

It was the one final thing he wanted to know now. “Did you mean it? What you said last night.”

Lightly, Kiyoomi asked, “You won’t be satisfied until you’ve ruined all of me, would you?”

Something in him quivered, shying away from the accusation. “Just answer the question.”

“I’m in love with you.” The confession sounded like a defeat. “Happy? It’s not like it changes anything now.”

No it doesn’t, because Atsumu didn’t find any satisfaction in finally hearing those damn words from Kiyoomi, crisp and clear as winter air. What use was that now that they were standing in the debris of the destruction they caused? He sure as hell wasn’t willing to do it all over again. Kiyoomi was a risk that Atsumu carelessly took once, but wasn't worth taking the second time around.

Right?

Atsumu was too damn tired for this.

“Yeah,” he said in resignation. He was winding down, anger giving way for remembered pain, this time sprinkled with regret and guilt. It was beginning to be clear to him that he’d been reckless again. He was getting really sick of losing his mind because of some guy. “Yeah, whatever. It’s a bad idea anyway.”

Kiyoomi just watched him with wet eyes, as if waiting for the axe to fall.

Atsumu followed through with the execution. He gestured between them. “You and me equals disaster, Omi. I’m not actually looking to ruin what I’ve worked for, and I’m already putting it all on the line.” _Because of you,_ he didn’t say. He didn’t need to. “It’s just — you’re just not worth it.”

His statement was met with silence. Kiyoomi seemed frozen in place.

Stepping back, Atsumu warily said, “That’s it, then.”

Kiyoomi lifted a shoulder, avoiding his eyes now. “Yes.”

“Fine.” Maybe a part of him wanted Kiyoomi to fight it.

“Fine.” But of course he wouldn’t.

Atsumu turned away, walking slowly out of the kitchen and towards his room, ignoring the niggling doubt that had planted itself at the bottom of his stomach.

It’s the right decision, he insisted to himself. He knew this. It just got too damn messy, too damn risky.

But Atsumu always knew when he made mistakes, because contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t stupid.

 _This is a mistake_ , he thought. _I was right before, he does love me._

But his feet refused to reverse his steps. He kept walking until the moment had passed. Until there was no more taking it back.

\--

The next few days reminded Atsumu of that thing that action films liked to do — the slowed down chaos following an explosion, the deafening silence where you only hear a lagging heartbeat.

And the sheer disbelief of what just happened.

The team still had to continue with their media rounds like nothing earth-shattering had happened behind the curtains. It was supposed to be easier — the jig was up, the show was over, the director had yelled ‘Cut!’ — but the pressure in his chest only got worse.

_What have I done?_

Feeling like some sort of criminal, he kept stealing glances at Kiyoomi and he looked...fine. He was quiet, and he kept his distance.

This did not satisfy Atsumu either.

Could Kiyoomi really recover so quickly? Did he realize that Atsumu was a vile excuse for a human being and jumped at the chance to wash him off his body?

Atsumu could hardly blame him for that. He wasn’t mature enough to temper his anger, but he _was_ mature enough to know when he crossed the line.

But it didn’t stop him from feeling like he was suffering through his first heartbreak. Having had no relationships prior to their ill-advised fuck buddy arrangement, it truly _was_ his first.

 _How pathetic_ , he thought darkly. _My first heartbreak was from a fake relationship-slash-friends with benefits stint_.

And the worst part was that while he was so desperate to see Kiyoomi in pain, he missed him too. He was a shitty person.

Their guest appearances went by without a hitch; interviewers kept their promise and steered clear of personal questions, which Atsumu appreciated.

But the nights...the nights were a different story.

He _missed_ Kiyoomi. The last night they shared together and the cutting fight they had in the kitchen haunted him. He kept revisiting the harrowing memories like a wound that he refused to let heal.

And the more time he had to think about it, the more painful it became.

When was healing supposed to start? He had said his piece, Kiyoomi seemed to get the message — why didn’t he feel any better?

He kept thinking about the way he left Kiyoomi in his bed, ruined and desperate. Remembered the tears that were sitting on Kiyoomi’s eyes when he ended it once and for all and thought, _I did that. I made him cry._

And he didn’t know how to swallow that. He had made sure that Kiyoomi paid for hurting him, but all he could think was, _Omi probably hates me now, and for good reason._

The thought threatened to shake him apart.

Four days passed, then five, then six. The news cycle forgot them. Their fans mourned. Their teammates took to studying them while pretending they were doing no such thing, but to their credit, they didn’t say a word. Not that it was wise to do so, as it was a rather hectic time — they were attending press junkets and thanksgiving parties and brand events left and right.

He had never felt like he was faking so much until now.

But there were moments in between the chaos, when things would slow down and turn quiet, and he would find himself relearning the path towards Kiyoomi, hungry to trace his sharp features and the visible moles on his skin.

And it was during these moments that he started to think that maybe Kiyoomi wasn’t unaffected.

He began to notice the cracks in Kiyoomi’s mask — the odd rhythm his foot would tap out when Atsumu was anywhere close to him, the way he would nibble at his bottom lip whenever he had to open Instagram where their ‘couple’ photos still remained, the quick peeks he would give Atsumu beneath his lashes.

 _What did that mean?_ Atsumu would wonder frantically to himself, heart pounding. _What does this feeling mean?_

His pride refused to let him think about it. He ended it, didn’t he? So he focused on work — signing autographs, pretending to like kids, posing for selfies. Atsumu’s face had long since become numb from smiling too much. Sometimes he and Kiyoomi had to pose for photos together, and Atsumu would tuck an arm around his waist to prove that they remained on good terms.

 _‘Good’_ was an outright lie. The electricity that still ignites between them was _horrific_.

He wasn’t imagining that, was he?

How could his body still not get the message? Why was it so eager to forget what his heart had just gone through? God, he really was a fucking hoe.

And when he and Kiyoomi accidentally ran into each other at the hallway of the sharehouse, Atsumu’s head spun at the way he was immediately consumed with _want_. He hightailed it back to his room without a glance back.

This was bad. He could handle it if it was just the weird sparks — he could excuse those as lingering feelings — but there were also...moments. When Atsumu couldn’t help but look at Kiyoomi, only to find Kiyoomi looking back. No matter how quickly they glanced away, the awareness always kicked the tension up a notch — soon it would break. And he knew very well what came after the break.

Nothing about this was good.

Naturally, he called Osamu.

“You’re telling me,” Osamu said when he was done laughing at his misery, “you’re upset because you’re still horny for him?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Atsumu grumbled, trying to find a comfortable spot on his bed. “I need to exorcise him from my existence, like, yesterday.”

“But why?”

“Because—! You know why!”

“Yeah, yeah, he broke your heart. But honestly, Tsumu, are you more concerned about your heart or your ego?”

Atsumu felt like he was slapped. “You—”

“I mean, what more do you want from him? He apologized, he said he was willing to explain if you gave him time, he said he loves you back,” Osamu listed in a bored tone. “You’re making this more difficult than it has to be. Can’t you two just get over yourselves? What, does he need to beg? It takes two to tango, you know. Remind me again how you got here?”

He really hated it when his twin was making sense. Grinding his teeth, he bit out, “I don’t need him to _beg_.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t know!” Atsumu mussed up his hair, flopping on his pillows with a huff. “My feelings don’t make sense! And neither do his!”

“Well, can’t help you there,” Osamu sighed. “But seriously, Tsumu. It really shouldn’t be this complicated. What do you _want_?”

“The same thing I’ve always wanted.” To play volleyball until he physically couldn’t anymore, and along the way become the best player the world had ever seen.

“You could want more things than one, you know,” Osamu pointed out. Then he muttered, “Frickin’ volleyball idiots.”

“ _You_ used to be a volleyball idiot.”

“I still am, but I also have my shop, and one day — you know, when I finally ask him out — I’ll have Keiji, too. Now isn’t that just amazing?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. His twin liked to pretend he had it together, but he always got tongue-tied around his regular customer and Bokuto’s old teammate, Akaashi Keiji, who was based in Osaka now.

“Maybe if you learned balance, you wouldn’t be so burned out,” Osamu continued. “But whatever, Icarus. Do what you want.”

“What the fuck is an Icarus?”

“Oh god.” Osamu sounded pained. “Nevermind. I’m hangin’ up.”

“I liked it better when you were angry with him,” Atsumu muttered. He had run to Osamu after that nightmare of a dinner and his twin had nearly blown a gasket upon hearing the full story. But he always did have a better grasp on diplomacy than Atsumu — he’d merely said something along the lines of, _‘Tell him how he hurt you, listen to his reasons. There are always two sides to a story.’_

Atsumu had a creeping suspicion that he didn't succeeded in that.

“Believe it or not, I’m not actually your babysitter,” Osamu was saying now. “You two are grown adults. Grown adults with issues, sure, but the keyword here is _‘grown_.’ Got it? _Talk_.”

Atsumu whined, “But I don’t wanna.” If he did talk to Kiyoomi again, he might say things he’d regret. Again.

“Then stop making it my problem,” Osamu snapped. “ _Goodbye_.” And he hung up. 

Displeased, Atsumu dropped his phone carelessly on the mattress. Curling underneath his blankets, he let his mind drift away. It didn’t even take a minute before it touched on the dilemma that was Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Atsumu sighed, muttering, “What am I supposed to do with you, Omi-kun? Where do I put ya?” Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? He loved Kiyoomi, but hated the storms he brought into his life; he wanted him, but couldn’t be with him; he was crazy about him, but apparently unhinged without him.

Why was this thing so hard to kill? They weren’t even _talking_ anymore. Electricity had no business existing in the air between them.

 _It’s his fault_ , he thought furiously, remembering Kiyoomi’s not-so-subtle glances. _How could he still look at me like that?_

Like he still wanted Atsumu even after everything.

Unfortunately, the ceiling provided no answers that night.

\--

The bristles of the brush tickled his face as the makeup artist touched up his powder.

“Five minutes,” Yuma called out, and the team murmured in excitement.

It wasn’t so much the interview they were excited about — although it _was_ a big deal because it was a live broadcast at a popular network — as the fact that it was the last of their media rounds that marked the beginning of freedom. They could all go home for a bit after this. Everyone was looking forward to the break.

Atsumu told himself that the heaviness in his chest was because he was missing his parents.

Yuma gathered them all together, giving them final reminders, brushing up on the interview tips with a stern look at Kiyoomi and Hinata, the two newbies.

He didn’t realize Bokuto had made his way to stand beside him until he asked, “You okay, Tsum-Tsum?”

It was the closest anyone in the team ever addressed that something was wrong. With a sigh, Atsumu dropped his forehead on Bokuto’s shoulder. “Peachy.”

“Well, what’s wrong?” Bokuto probably already had an idea of the answer to that. Atsumu still appreciated him asking.

“I miss him,” Atsumu mumbled, low enough that nobody else would hear.

And then Yuma was giving them the signal: the show was on.

A blink, and then they were on stage; another, and they were settled down on couches. This time, Atsumu sat across from Kiyoomi, and he didn’t know if being forced to see his face was better than being forced to sit right beside him.

He truly hoped he could keep his focus. If he fucked up this interview, it wouldn’t be at all easy to live down.

The host, Fumiko, started off easily enough. The media rarely asked new questions, because there were things they had to ask even if it was old knowledge, and things they had to ask because they needed the answers to be put on their record. And with the team’s personal lives generally banned, there really wasn’t much for the interviewer to prod about. Later they’d be forced to do some gimmicks, maybe play some games, but those were actually pretty fun. Atsumu didn’t mind them.

He swerved his attention back to the interview when Fumiko addressed Kiyoomi.

“Sakusa-senshu, how was your first year as a professional volleyball player? You were a starter from the get-go, that’s impressive!”

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi said politely. “I feel extremely lucky for being given that opportunity. I’m glad I was able to prove myself to my team and to all the people who had expectations for me.”

“And how is it being in the MSBY Black Jackals? How do you find your teammates?”

“They’re okay. They’re — good.” Kiyoomi hesitated, then pushed on, much to their surprise. “I like them. I’m not very good with people, but they don’t mind. And some of them...really went out of their way to bring me into the fold. I appreciated that a lot. Even though I never said so.”

“Is there anyone in particular you’re referring to…?” There was a glint in her eyes that warned Atsumu that he was about to do the non-prodding thing hosts liked to do to get around the censored topics.

“I— well, it’s Atsumu of course.” There was a hush in the stadium following his statement, and Atsumu was speechless himself.

“Would you like to expound on that?” Fumiko asked.

Kiyoomi laced his fingers together and gripped them until his knuckles were white. “Like I said, I’m not good with people. But he wormed his way in, I guess. He’s so annoying that you couldn’t help but be fond of him.”

Fumiko laughed. “I’m not sure that applies to most people, but I do find that rather adorable. Would you say you two are best friends, then?”

“He...he’s the closest thing I have to a best friend, yes,” Kiyoomi said after a nearly imperceptible hesitation, and Atsumu’s heart did a violent tumble in his chest. “More than that. He’s...special.”

This was toeing a very delicate line. Someone should stuff a sock in Kiyoomi’s mouth before he dragged them all in hot water. But everyone seemed frozen, and Atsumu was unable to do anything but stare.

And Kiyoomi kept going. “I wouldn’t say I know him inside out, but there are many things about him that I’ve grown fond of. Like... the way he pretends he loves spicy food but he actually couldn’t handle it. And he’s a scaredy cat when it comes to horror films, too. He spends a whole fifteen minutes styling his hair every morning, but he’s lazy when it comes to his nighttime routine. And he always acts like he hates his twin, but he’d cry if Osamu ever forgot to call him for even just a day — he’d probably mope about how his ‘baby brother’ outgrew him.”

Atsumu couldn’t recall a time he felt so seen.

“Wow.” Fumiko blinked at Atsumu, then at Kiyoomi, looking unsure. But the journalist in her won out. “You sound like you love him very dearly.”

“I do,” Kiyoomi shrugged. “But sometimes things just don’t work out. I’m starting to learn to be okay with that. Sometimes you don't get the results you wanted and worked hard for, and you just have to live with that.”

Alarm bells were ringing in Atsumu’s head, but they were quickly drowned out by the thundering of his heart. What the hell was going on? His teammates were shifting restlessly beside him, but he couldn’t even spare them a shred of attention. He listened intently to the conversation.

“Sounds like there’s history there,” Fumiko said.

“It’s — I was in a relationship with someone, a couple years before Atsumu. Obviously, it didn’t work out. And it hurt me a lot, and I didn’t realize I was still healing from it. It’s, I,” Kiyoomi stumbled on his words. “It’s not easy for me...getting used to things, and then having to get used to being without them.”

Fumiko was leaning forward now, body angled solely towards Kiyoomi. “Do we know who it is?”

Kiyoomi shook his head once, firmly. “I’d rather not say. We’re on good terms now, I prefer to leave it in the past.”

“I understand.”

 _Once bitten, twice shy?_ he mulled. What he saw during the party looked different in this new light. _Kiyoomi_ looked different in this new light.

Atsumu thought maybe he didn’t really know him much at all.

But Kiyoomi was letting the world know him now. “I guess since then I’ve been having a hard time letting people in. It's so easy to fall into the routine of loving someone, but so hard to reverse it. I figured — it's just a pain, it's not worth it. But then you meet someone and suddenly, it...is. Worth it.”

Fumiko’s eyes flicked to Atsumu briefly, before trailing back to Kiyoomi. “So what happened?” She didn’t need to clarify what or who she was referring to. The studio was silent, as if everyone was holding their breath as they awaited the answer.

Kiyoomi studied the floor, eyes wide and foot tapping restlessly. He was faltering now, and that was a bad thing when in the hot seat. “I made mistakes.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t communicate well,” he said in a thin, delicate voice. “It caused a lot of strain, to myself most of all. And I tend to shut down when things get bad, and push people away instead of trying to fix problems. It’s easier for me to shy away rather than face things. And I guess...I should have told him how much he means to me. Even though I can’t put it into words, I should have — tried. Because he deserves to hear it a hundred times.”

There was a knife in Atsumu’s throat, making it hard to swallow. There was an itch in his nose, causing him to sniffle.

Kiyoomi wasn’t done talking. "Because he pours himself in the things he loves, and I was lucky to have been one of those things. Because he’s so unbelievably bright that for a moment he chased away the shadows. And the worst part is — when it's over, you can't even hate him, you just hate yourself. Like you gave up, or left something unfinished, or you fell short.”

"Was it a difference in personality or...?"

"Not _difference_ exactly... It's funny, because we're actually a lot similar and I think we make very good friends. But as lovers we clashed in the worst way. We both have too much pride, we're both pretty bad at talking — and listening for that matter — and we're both stubborn. It was just...disaster."

That was the very same word that Atsumu had used, and while he meant it back then, it hurt like a knife now. Atsumu knew he had no right being upset about this. What was wrong with him?

“It was really just my luck to fall in love with him of all people,” Kiyoomi murmured. “Because with all good things come the bad and...there was a lot of bad. He's...difficult. Our three-month relationship caused me exponentially more pain than my past three-year relationship, so that says a lot, I think."

“Would you say the _relationship_ was a mistake?” Fumiko pressed.

After a brief hesitation in which Atsumu held his breath, Kiyoomi answered, "No. I think I'm just glad to have experienced it no matter how brief. It was my bitter pill to swallow. Not that I think I’m better off for it...actually until recently, I was so desperate to get —to get him back, but now I think it was always going to end this way. We're bad for each other. I don't think relationships should be so _gruelling_. Until now I'm exhausted from it."

Fumiko actually looked kind of sad. “So there’s no chance of rekindling anything?”

Kiyoomi shook his head and opened his mouth.

“I wouldn’t say no.” The words didn’t come from Kiyoomi, but from Atsumu. Kiyoomi jerked his chin up to stare at him. “Never say never, I like to say.”

Atsumu felt every head in the stadium turn in his direction. From the corner of his eye, he saw his teammates exchange glances.

But he only had eyes for Kiyoomi, who looked comically shocked. Atsumu’s heart was pounding desperately in his chest, as if it knew he was trying to race against something here. It wasn’t helping any.

Fumuko turned to him, eyes glimmering with barely concealed excitement. “Why do you say that, Miya-senshu?”

“I’m saying that, well,” he stumbled on his words, “endings don’t need to be permanent.”

“Says the person who ended it,” Kiyoomi said lightly.

There were gasps among the audience and even the team. “People can change their minds,” Atsumu shot back. “Especially in light of new information that the _other_ person never bothered to say.”

“Maybe because the other person knew it was going to end badly and wanted to protect himself.”

“No,” Atsumu said slowly. "You've just always been too quick to give up, that's your problem."

"And you're always too relentless."

Inunaki muttered, “Here we go.”

Atsumu was about to retort when a firm hand gripped his shoulder. It was Meian, and he was wearing a stern expression that promised trouble should he continue. He shut his mouth.

Fumiko jumped at the chance to ask a question as the brewing argument ceased. “What mistakes do you think _you_ made, Miya-san?”

Well fuck, he didn’t think he’d need to confess to his sins. There were too damn many.

But Kiyoomi’s confession was still ringing in his mind and he felt that he, too, owed him and the world some honesty. Even though he could barely be honest with himself.

“I got too emotional, I guess,” he muttered. “I was so focused on my own feelings that I didn’t consider he had his own battles to fight, too. Battles that had nothing to do with me. Maybe... maybe I could have learned to listen.”

 _I wanted to explain but it's become increasingly clear that it would require more patience and time than you could give_ , Kiyoomi had said. The way things were going at the time, he couldn’t blame Kiyoomi for making that presumption. Atsumu was self-aware enough to know there was no stopping him when he was mad and hurt — he could and _would_ lash out because he was entitled to those feelings. And Kiyoomi — ever cautious, ever guarded Kiyoomi — well, it must have taken a lot to even put himself in the line of Atsumu’s temper. The night they last fucked ran through his mind again, like a glitch.

“I could have tried opening up instead of bottling everything in,” Kiyoomi said, softer now.

“Maybe I jumped the gun,” Atsumu said. “Ending it.”

Kiyoomi refused to look at him. “Maybe you did. You’re always so — impulsive.”

“And you don’t take enough chances,” Atsumu said sharply. He wanted to say, _You didn’t fight for me_ , but that wasn’t fair. Not when he gave up too easily himself.

“This isn’t couple’s counseling,” Inunaki hissed. “Oh my god, this is embarrassing.”

“No, no, let them talk.” There was a gleam in Bokuto’s eyes again. “Tsum-Tsum, didn’t you just tell me that you missed Omi-kun?”

 _Ah, Bokkun. I love you, but I’m going to strangle you the moment I could get my hands on you._ Somewhere, Osamu was probably watching this interview and cackling.

Kiyoomi finally looked at him. “Do you?”

Atsumu pursed his lips. “Of course I do. I don’t know how to make it any clearer to you that I was serious about the relationship.”

“You were?”

“The fuck?” Atsumu glared at him. “What did you think all that fucking drama was about?” Was Kiyoomi seriously doubting him right now?

“Well, it’s not like you said that,” Kiyoomi pointed out. “Not until…” Not until after the dinner that stressed both of them out so much that they couldn’t help but take it out on each other. His hasty and ill-timed confession was the lit match that set the wreckage ablaze. Back then, he did it out of desperation, but he could see now how it must have blindsided Kiyoomi.

Maybe...maybe Atsumu shouldn’t have shifted gears without telling Kiyoomi. Maybe he did everything backwards. “I know,” he admitted. “But honestly, Omi...what the fuck did you think we’ve been doing all this time?”

“I didn’t want to think about it,” Kiyoomi muttered. He was back to scrutinizing the floor. “You caught me off guard and I didn’t react well. I never said I was perfect, alright?”

“I never asked you to be.”

“But it felt like you were expecting me to be. Like I’m not allowed to make mistakes. I said the wrong thing, you stopped listening. I did something you didn’t understand or like, you decided you hate me. And you never let me get a word in, because you’d rather hurt me first and ask questions later.” Kiyoomi pinned him with a look. “And you’d never apologize, because I’m the one in the wrong. Right?”

And those were his sins right there. Of course it was Kiyoomi who would expose them; he supposed he deserved this. He deserved to be called out.

But he could at least prove Kiyoomi wrong about the last one. “I’m a bullheaded idiot, and I’m sorry. I was just hurt. You hurt me first.”

“I know. And I don’t know how many times you want me to apologize for that, or how long you want to punish me for that.”

Guilt grabbed him by the throat. He felt like he’s heard Kiyoomi say _‘sorry’_ and _‘I apologize’_ so many times already, but he never bothered to listen. Not until Kiyoomi stopped chasing him and he realized he didn’t want him to disappear.

It wasn’t fair of him.

He could only say again, “I’m sorry.”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “I’m sorry, too.”

The tense and awkward silence that consumed the studio was the worst that Atsumu had ever experienced his life. But it was nothing compared to the ache that was lingering in his heart.

 _We’ve done it now_ , he thought.

But he meant what he said. This didn't have to be the end. His head felt clearer than it had been in a while, and he was ready to turn over every stone to figure out what went wrong. On both their ends.

Maybe they could still make it. Maybe Atsumu didn't need to miss him. He was willing to try again now, and he could only hope Kiyoomi was, too.

“Well,” Fumiko finally said. “We’re due for a breather, folks. Tune back in after the break.”

“This is the _worst_ ,” Inunaki said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this chapter made you grind your teeth and maybe perish in secondhand embarrassment, yeah same.
> 
> and we're not close to being done yet. man, cleaning up messes is the worst...
> 
> oh and THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE COMMENTS!!! I know I'm so bad at replying but I read each one and they help me feel out the mood. I appreciate you all very much!!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I AM DROPPING THE REST OF THE FIC NOW
> 
> Atsumu POV

Miya Atsumu had 293,764 followers on Instagram. Sakusa Kiyoomi had 151,832.

Strictly speaking, Atsumu was the more popular one — when it comes to dealing with fame, he had four years of experience over Kiyoomi.

But he was discovering that maybe it had already swallowed him whole.

He used to take pride in not caring about that aspect of professional volleyball, but things unavoidably shifted when he found himself at the center of constant attention. He got used to being known, being analyzed, being heard, even when he didn’t say a word. And when the world got it wrong, he could always count that the people behind the smokescreen would know his truth.

As he chased Kiyoomi down the hallway towards the dressing room, he was smacked with the realization that there were still things he had to say out loud.

He slipped through the door before Kiyoomi could slam it shut. Thumbing the lock behind him, he watched Kiyoomi scurry to a corner of the room before turning to gaze at him with scared eyes.

And that was all wrong. When did that happen? When did Kiyoomi ever fear Atsumu? He never meant to be the monster in his story.

“Omi,” he began. “We have to talk.”

Kiyoomi looked ready to bolt away, cheeks flushed and body tense. “That was so humiliating.”

Atsumu couldn’t help the small laugh. “You just had to say all that on air, didn’t you?”

“You were never going to listen.”

Fair enough. But… “I’m listening now.”

Kiyoomi seemed to clam up further. “I don’t — I don’t know where to—”

“It’s okay. I’ll start.” He walked until they were inches apart and Kiyoomi couldn’t escape his gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ve told you how you hurt me, now tell me how I hurt you.”

“There’s too much,” Kiyoomi faltered, “I don’t know.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Atsumu said again. What else could he say? Could he still fix this? “I got defensive. I wanted — I wanted to hurt you and I’m sorry for that.” The admission shamed him. Stained him.

Kiyoomi lifted a shoulder. “I know. I guess I deserved it.”

“No, you don’t.” _No matter how you hurt me_ , he thought.

But Kiyoomi’s eyes were far away, signalling that he was no longer listening. Words spilling from his mouth like a flood from a broken dam. “I just kept making mistake after mistake. I know, I _know_ I should have said something at the dinner, but every time I tried I was reminded of the million times they talked to me the way they were talking to you and I just — I froze. And I was _relieved_ that it was you in the line of fire and I’m sorry for that. It was one dinner for you, but it was just the latest of a lifetime of them for me. I thought I could handle it but I was wrong. But I shouldn’t have let you take the abuse.”

Atsumu swallowed. In his anger, he failed to consider that. “I mean — if I had known — I would have taken the bullets for you, no problem. You should have just _told_ me.”

“That conversation is not the kind you initiate with your _fuck buddy_ , Atsumu.”

“We were more than that,” he couldn’t help but insist, irritation flaring up in him again.

“Yeah, sure, and you were so eager to tell me that, were you?” Kiyoomi glared at him. “Tell me, Atsumu, when did you decide to up the status? When did you change the rules? Because you sure as hell didn’t tell _me_. Was I supposed to figure it out myself? Was I supposed to think, oh, Atsumu loves me now, so we’re together for real, and it’s time to share all our trauma so that when my evil family meets my _totally_ real boyfriend, he’ll be ready to face them? When was my cue to tell you about my ex who tried his best to love me but decided he loved someone else more? It’s not like you even asked. I’m not a mind-reader, Atsumu.”

Atsumu ran his hands down his face, trying to absorb that. He wanted to be angry, but Kiyoomi was right. He had been knowingly dealing under the table. “Yeah. I get it. I should have just confessed to you the moment I caught feelings but I didn’t want to freak you out. And I was right, wasn’t I? You were the one who pulled away first.”

“I just needed some space from you,” Kiyoomi muttered. “You became...important. But you weren’t part of the plan. I needed to _think_. And I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things in Tokyo. I didn’t mean to break us. And I thought — I thought I could fix it, but by then you were too far gone.” His voice turned plaintive. “This is just going to be a cycle of us hurting each other, isn’t it?"

"We're putting a stop to that right now," Atsumu said firmly. “I’m so sick of it. I just want…”

“What?” Kiyoomi searched his face. “What do you want?”

“To wake up to you?” The knife was back in his throat. “And fall asleep holding you?”

“You want the good parts, but couldn’t stand the bad.” Kiyoomi sounded both solemn and sure. “It’s all fun at first, and then I’ll get used to you, and you’ll get sick of me, and it will all break, and it will take another few years for me to recover and —”

Atsumu held him by the arms and shook. “ _Omi_. We haven’t even started and you’re already anticipating the end.”

“How can I not when I already know how much it will destroy me?”

It was hard to fight against that when Atsumu knew how cruel he’d purposely been. Regret threatened to choke him. He could only hope that Kiyoomi could find in himself even just a smidgeon of a reason to say yes. “I know I didn’t exactly make a good case for myself, but — but I'm asking for another chance."

Kiyoomi shifted from foot to foot. “Atsumu...I meant what I said, we’re bad for each other. You said it yourself, you and me—”

“Fuck that,” Atsumu ground out, tightening his grip on Kiyoomi’s arms. “I was being a fucking idiot when I said that. Can we start over? Can I ask you on a date? Omi, let’s go on a fucking date. Right now, come on. Please?”

It was stupid, because Kiyoomi might have ended things first but Atsumu was the one who buried them. And now that Kiyoomi was slipping away for real, Atsumu couldn't help but cling. At that moment, it was clearer than ever what he was losing.

But Kiyoomi managed to slip from his grasp yet again, taking a few steps back and taking a breath. “Atsumu. We can’t just — I can’t just jump into this with you again. You’re — you’re always going too fast and hard. I need a breather. I’m exhausted, I mean it. There’s not much left of me for you to ruin, Atsumu.”

Atsumu knew that he should try to understand that. _It's not just me he has to recover from_ , he thought, mind flitting to Ushijima. He didn't know the whole story yet, but from what he gathered the breakup was tough on Kiyoomi. And if he was right, then Kiyoomi had been wary of getting into another relationship.

And Atsumu might have just made things worse.

Rationally, he knew this. But he couldn’t help but be upset. Just how much more breaking could his heart take? The final pieces of it left standing were threatening to crumble, and he only had himself to blame. “So that’s a no?” he whispered.

Kiyoomi met his gaze bravely. “That’s a ‘not now.’ That’s a ‘maybe one day.’ Can you accept that?”

The crumbling stopped, even as the jagged pieces continued to bleed. It was a crumb of a chance, but he was willing to take it. “Omi? Really?”

“We’re all due for a visit home. We could use the time apart. Because right now I can't look at you without thinking that this is going to kill me. And you can be upset about that but it doesn't change things for me,” Kiyoomi said bluntly.

And there went the last of his heart, because without the haze of hurt and anger, Atsumu could easily see the damage he had dealt to Kiyoomi right back. He thought he wanted this outcome but he was wrong. Regret weighed heavily in his chest.

Kiyoomi was asking for time and that was...reasonable. Atsumu was consumed with the fear that Kiyoomi would change his mind while he wasn’t looking, but what could he do? He had made his bed, now he had to lie on it. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.” _That you’ll think about me_ , was what he meant. “And — I hope this isn’t out of line — but please don’t forget how good we were together once, okay?”

The plea was almost desperate but he had nothing else to hold on to. The ice skating, the dirty dancing, holding hands while walking, making love in the moonlight...their happiness was brief, but it was worth the risk, wasn’t it? He could only hope that the good memories weren’t corrupted by the bad.

Kiyoomi’s face softened. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

It was too early for hope, but he couldn’t help but be relieved at the possibility that this wasn’t the end.

But there was one other thing he had to apologize for. “I’m sorry about — that night.”

Kiyoomi averted his eyes. “Me, too.”

“Omi,” Atsumu said, but they both jumped at the sudden banging on the door.

“You fuckers!” It was Inunaki. “We want to fucking change and go home. Open up! And you better be decent!”

“When will you two stop being so scandalous?” That was Meian. “Are you aware that the interview was live? Your crazy fans are freaking out on Twitter.”

“Fuck,” Atsumu groaned. What shitty timing.

A smile was tugging on Kiyoomi’s lips as he took another step back. “That’s our cue. We have a mess to clean up.”

“Yeah.” It was the last thing he wanted to deal with, but this was what he gets for letting his emotions get the best of him.

He watched Kiyoomi turn away and head to the door without hesitation. In many ways, he’d always been braver than Atsumu. 

As the noise and chaos made themselves known again, Atsumu turned to the mirror and started unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. Later, he’d have to think about everything that went wrong and sift through the damage to see what could be recovered. Later, he’d face his teammates and Yuma and Foster and Osamu and then the rest of the world. There was a lot of work ahead of him, but there was no other way to get past it other than through.

And maybe on the other side, Kiyoomi would be waiting for him.

But first, he had some healing to do.

\--

He went home.

His parents hovered around him when he arrived, questions in their eyes, but he just shrugged and dragged his feet to his childhood room.

It was smaller than he remembered, but at the same time entirely too empty without his twin. Though Osamu said he’d come home, too, in a few days.

Atsumu wasn’t looking forward to his nagging.

He sat on his bed in the bottom bunk, and looked around. What was he supposed to do now?

Stalk Kiyoomi, obviously. He checked all his social media accounts, but they haven’t been updated lately. His last post was still a selfie of the two of them, and the sight made Atsumu’s heart clench.

Curling up in bed, he spent the next hour going through their old posts, and when he ran out, scrolled through the hundreds of photos and videos he had in his phone. God, how long had he been in love? Why did it feel like he’d lost a limb instead of a months-long fling? He must have done everything wrong, from start to end.

Sniffling, he rubbed the tears out of his eyes, and wondered if it was too soon to text Kiyoomi. It most certainly was — they’ve been apart all of a day, Kiyoomi having hopped on a train to Tokyo earlier.

But Atsumu had never been good at controlling his impulses. Throwing his dignity out the window, he shot Kiyoomi a message.

 **Atsumu** : hi

Kiyoomi didn’t reply that day.

\--

True to his word, Osamu arrived a little later, carrying a duffel because he planned on staying for a week.

He dumped his things in a corner before kicking Atsumu’s leg. “Move.”

Atsumu made way and Osamu collapsed on the bed with a sigh. “Man, I shouldn’t have traveled at rush hour. That ride was a drag.”

When Atsumu didn’t answer, his twin squinted at him. “Still moping, I see.”

“Leave me alone,” he groused.

“I’m guessing this has to do with Sakusa-kun.”

Atsumu didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“I would have thought you two would have talked it out after that interview. Speaking of —” Osamu barked out a laugh. “When I said you two should talk, I didn’t mean in a _TV interview_. Holy shit. What a mess.”

Atsumu pouted. It _was_ a mess. They were minor celebrities, famous internet personalities at best; they’ve been the center of attention many times before, but never quite like this. But now, even the people who didn't much care for them before were paying attention. They were _everywhere_ : in gifs, viral clips, in the trends list, and splashed in every media outlet imaginable. When they made it to Buzzfeed, he cringed. When even the _South China Morning Post_ ran a story about them, he accepted that they were never living this down.

The only good thing about it was that none of them seemed to suspect that it was a fake relationship. They were only painted as bitter exes who were still in love.

Their fans were _thriving_. And scarily enough, ever growing.

Atsumu was being badgered left and right about whether he and Kiyoomi were back together — and if they weren’t, whether or not there was a chance that they would. He never answered them; in fact, aside from his daily visit to Kiyoomi’s accounts, he was avoiding social media. The only people he responded to were his teammates, who were respectfully silent about the topic, even though Atsumu was _sure_ they were cackling about them behind their backs.

Kiyoomi hasn’t answered his message.

“Well?” Osamu prompted. “What are you gonna do?”

“What can I do?” he asked miserably. “We did talk after the interview, and I tried to ask for another chance but he said he needed time.”

“Then that’s the only thing left for you to do.”

“But what if he realizes he's right?” he blurted out, gazing up at his twin with wide eyes. “What if he realizes he’s better off without me? I _hurt_ him, Samu.”

“Ya just gotta live with it if that’s the case,” Osamu shrugged. “I mean...honestly, Tsumu. You have to admit it got pretty toxic. Aren’t you two better off apart? Why push this?”

“Because,” he hesitated, “it’s different with him. I’ve never felt like this before. He makes me want...things.” Morning kisses. Back hugs. A hand to hold. Someone to walk this journey with him.

Kiyoomi was always going to be there, wasn’t he? He shared Atsumu’s passion for volleyball, at the very least they’d always be running in the same circles. Always running in the same direction. 

How much of a stretch would be it for them to do it together? Was wanting it too greedy of him?

Probably.

“Man, you got it bad,” Osamu said, looking astonished. “Gross. You two deserve each other.”

“Do you think he could still like me?” he asked in a small voice.

“Are you serious? The dude confessed his love for you in front of the whole _world_.”

That he did. Atsumu couldn't even comprehend the strength it took for Kiyoomi to let himself be vulnerable in front of so many people. And here Atsumu was, living his most ingenuine life.

Osamu staggered to his feet and stretched. “I’m gonna go change and maybe nap. Maybe by some miracle you’d have gotten your head out of your ass by then.

“Hey Samu.” Atsumu sat up just as Osamu moved to turn away. “What about you? How’s Keiji-kun?”

“Ah, that.” Osamu rubbed his neck. “I managed to say a whole sentence to him the other day?”

Atsumu stared at him. “You know what, I’m never asking you for advice ever again.”

\--

 **Atsumu** : miss you. sorry.

\--

It was refreshing, narrowing his world to something smaller and quieter. He felt like a kid again, biking across his hometown to run errands for his mother and making mochi with Osamu. He rarely got to go home since he kickstarted his volleyball career, and he appreciated it now more than ever.

Amagasaki was the same. He walked down the same road he used to take going to school, and passed by the same video game store he and Osamu used to frequent. Old Nana’s melon shakes were still the best, the local McDonald’s was still filthy, and the old school arcade was still packed with students.

It was only him that changed, then.

After a week, his mother finally breached the topic.

“So, you wanna tell me about that boy of yours?” she asked casually while she cooked.

Atsumu choked on his peach juice. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Um, he’s not my boy. Never was.”

“Oh? I must have been watching a different interview, then.”

Cringing, Atsumu attempted to explain without baring the whole truth. “It was more of a dating for convenience thing. I thought he didn’t really like me, but apparently he did, but by that time I was mad, then he got mad, and we were both just...mad. So now it’s over.”

His mother tutted. “That’s what I used to say about your father. You know how many times I attempted to leave him?”

Atsumu straightened in his seat. He’d never heard of this before. As far as he knew, his parents were happy and content together, although they were still bemoaning their children _‘leaving the nest.’_ He’d been mulling over getting them a dog.

“Three,” she continued. “Packed my bags, tried to run away in the middle of the night. We were fighting a lot those days, I just got sick of it, you know?”

“What happened?”

“Hmm. Sometimes he chased me. Sometimes I went back on my own. And before you say that I was weak for it, I’ll have you know that it’s not very easy, giving up on the person you love. And the longer we stayed together, the harder it was to leave everything we had behind.”

“Oh.”

Setting down the spatula on the counter, his mother turned to scrutinize him. “You’re young still. You’ll learn all this eventually. For now, enjoy young love, hmm?”

Was that what he and Kiyoomi had? It had turned ugly so fast. But he remembered chocolate-covered kisses and saccharine smiles and decided — yes. At some point, they did have the best of times together.

He’d do anything to get that back.

His mother propped her elbow on the counter, resting her cheek on her palm. Her eyes were twinkling playfully. “Your boy’s rather handsome.”

He smiled at that. “Yeah, he is.”

“Is he nice?”

“Er — no, not really. But I like him like that.”

“What else do you like about him?”

“Why are you interrogating me,” he mumbled. “I guess — I like that he loves volleyball as much as I do.”

“And?”

Atsumu was genuinely thinking about this now. “His hair? His moles? His sweet tooth? I don’t know, a lot.”

“Maybe you should tell him that,” she suggested. And then she laughed at the face he made. “You are too proud! You got that from me. But try it anyway — flattery can get you anywhere, you know.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, shaking his head fondly.

Visiting was a good idea, he thought. It felt like being dragged back to earth. Grounding.

He’d missed home.

\--

**Atsumu** : had the best strawberry daifuku today. thought of you

**Atsumu** : i could bring you some if you want.

 **Atsumu** : they were almost as sweet as you

 **Atsumu** : fuck sorry that was creepy

 **Atsumu** : omi

 **Atsumu** : i didn’t mean to sound like a creep

**Atsumu** : but i meant it. sometimes ur really sweet

 **Atsumu** : it’s nice.

**Atsumu** : remembering it makes me miss you

 **Atsumu** : goodnight, omi.

\--

“Okay, okay.” Osamu swung his legs, which were hanging off the top bunk, nearly hitting Atsumu in the face. “I just have to follow him on Instagram. That’s easy.”

Burying his face in a pillow, Atsumu groaned. How was Osamu such a _loser_?

“I’m doing it. I’m doing it.”

He raised his head and snapped, “Just do it!”

“Chill, will you? I’ve scrolled too far down in his feed, I gotta get back...up…”

When Osamu failed to continue his sentence, Atsumu sat up and punched his calf. “What? Did you do it?”

“I think I just liked an old post.”

“How old?”

“2018.”

There was a pause. Then Atsumu scrambled off his bed and grabbed Osamu’s wrist so he could see for himself. Osamu tried to kick him, but he had already seen the red heart that meant yes, his twin did indeed like Akaashi Keiji’s photo from three years ago.

Atsumu released his grip and doubled over in laughter. “Unlike it, you idiot!”

Osamu tapped around on his phone then let himself collapse on his mattress. “Fuck my life.”

“How are you so _bad_ at this?”

“You don’t get to fucking say that to me.”

Atsumu climbed up the ladder to his twin’s bunk and sat beside him, feeling as if they were eleven again and trading secrets. “Okay, I’m starting to feel sorry for you, so I’ll help you.”

“No offense, Tsumu, but you’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

“Well, I managed to pull quite a lot of lads and ladies during my wild years, so suck on that.”

Osamu lifted himself to his elbows and narrowed his eyes at Atsumu. “You say that like your wild years are behind you. You’re twenty-three.”

“And?”

“You’re too young to be acting like you’re a thirty-year-old looking back at the good old days. Unless of course, you found a reason to leave that lifestyle behind.”

Atsumu shifted uncomfortably. “Partying is fun and all but it gets tiresome, you know. I’d sooner stay home and…” he trailed off.

“What?”

And watch Netflix with Kiyoomi, or have sex with Kiyoomi, or discuss volleyball strategies with Kiyoomi — hell, he’d even help peel his blackheads off. The way he'd been constantly daydreaming about potential domestic moments with Kiyoomi was probably going to spell heartbreak for him, but he couldn't help himself. He had a taste of it before everything went sideways, and it felt like forever ago, but now all he thought about was getting more.

What would it be like to be loved by Sakusa Kiyoomi?

“Anyway,” he said, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “When he follows you back, you should post shirtless pics.”

Osamu looked disgusted. “This is what you _do_?”

\--

**Atsumu** : can you believe osamu’s so bad at this whole dating thing? you won’t believe the shit he did today. he’s no brother of mine

**Atsumu** : on second thought, i’m not any better, am i?

 **Atsumu** : i think i still have a lot to learn

\--

He kept sending text messages to Kiyoomi. At first he had debated against it, not wanting to trod on his space, but Kiyoomi never said not to text him, right? How else was Atsumu supposed to plead his case anyway? If tossing in hooks in a fish pond was the only way to get some catch, he was willing to do it. It reeked of desperation, but he was past dignity; and it was dumb anyway, because Kiyoomi was clearly not opening them. Still, something about it was comforting. Like having a diary, he supposed.

So he treated it as such.

It started off as him just sharing random thoughts and tidbits — there were a lot of things he didn’t know about Kiyoomi, a lot of things Kiyoomi didn’t know about him, so he thought this could help bridge the gap. He talked about his favorite cheat day snacks, sent photos of his old haunts in Amagasaki, informed him of the new movies he was watching.

But slowly, it morphed into something of a love letter. One that had no end in sight.

**Atsumu** : i remember the day i fell in love with you. it was valentines day, that’s poetic huh? i’ll never forget it now.

 **Atsumu** : remember that day? i got you these chocolates and you ate them in bed and you smiled at me and i was gone. or maybe i was gone earlier, who knows. that was just the day i realized it.

**Atsumu** : i saw a black cat in the street and i remembered you

 **Atsumu** : that’s nothing new, everything reminds me of you these days

 **Atsumu** : you’ll haunt me forever, won’t you?

This was something he liked doing, he found. Loving Kiyoomi was a strange phenomenon he wasn’t able to appreciate until now. Writing the chain of messages was freeing, and he finally understood why people were pushed to confess with letters and chocolates and their hearts on their sleeves, no matter the verdict.

He hoped that Kiyoomi would read it one day.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omi POV

Kiyoomi shouldn’t have gone home.

Tension creeped into his body the moment he stepped inside, even though he knew nobody was in the house. His siblings didn’t live here anymore, barely even visited in fact, but he knew his parents would summon them both for a family dinner soon. Especially since Kiyoomi was here for a month.

He didn’t want to be here. This was the first time he returned home since moving to Osaka; before that he’d been living on his own as he studied in Waseda. Barring rare occasions, he generally avoided visiting.

Things with his family hadn’t always been so complicated. It wasn’t as if he suffered greatly — he grew up in a stiff environment, mechanically bowing to his parents’ whims, dutifully raising himself to their standards at all times. It was all he knew after all. Sure, he had found himself thinking he didn’t want to grow up to be like his parents, but that was normal, wasn’t it?

And back then, he didn’t think they were that unreasonable either. They had treated him with cold silence the first time he told them he was gay, and they did toss around some comments that were borderline bigoted, but Kiyoomi accepted that. At the time he had simply wanted their acceptance, not approval; it took months, but they eventually softened. He had learned to fight smart just to get what he wanted — dating boys instead of girls, pursuing volleyball instead of medicine — but he did manage it, even though the mind games made his head swim.

It was only when he was living on his own during university that phone calls from them started to feel daunting and monthly dinners started to feel like a crucifixion. And it was only until he was with the Black Jackals that he thought perhaps family shouldn’t be so difficult and draining.

And it wasn’t until that dinner with Atsumu that it slapped him in the face just how _cruel_ their words could be. They were familiar words, said in familiar tones, and he was unprepared for the reaction it invoked in him. He just shut down.

At the time he could only think, _I lived through that?_

Kiyoomi didn’t know how he was supposed to even look his parents in the face now, after what they’d done. But he had long since promised to visit during off-season, and disobeying them never went well for him. This was the lesser evil, so here he was.

He just had to brace himself for the impending impact. He knew it was coming — his mother had called him up in glee when she heard that he and Atsumu ‘broke up,’ but there had only been silence from her end after that disaster of an interview. The disapproval was clear. Another tense family dinner was in his near future.

A text alert startled him and he pulled out his phone to see a message from his sister, saying she and their brother would be coming for dinner in a couple weeks.

Two weeks. He could do that.

With a sigh, he lugged his suitcase up the stairs and headed to his childhood bedroom. It was only there that he felt a semblance of home, even though it was barren. He had never been much for material possessions, so most of his belongings fit snugly in his room in Osaka. The only things left here were some old rolled up posters, a handful of YA sci-fi novels, clothes and shoes that no longer fit him, and some random trinkets that wormed their way into his pockets.

After setting his suitcase in a corner of the room, Kiyoomi let himself collapse on his stiff mattress.

When his phone pinged again, he was expecting a message from his sister, but he was proven wrong.

It was from Atsumu.

Reflexively tightening his fingers around his phone, he stared at the _‘hi’_ in his notifications, heart pounding.

But it wasn’t the good kind of pounding. The feeling that curled in his stomach was a mixture of anxious, wary, scared — it wasn’t a _good_ feeling so he placed his phone face down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Everything with Atsumu still felt so raw. Kiyoomi still burned with mortification remembering the interview, but he found he didn’t regret it. He didn’t _plan_ it — that level of impulsiveness was uncharacteristic of him — but he found himself wanting the world to know his truth, and he wanted Atsumu to listen. Because he deserved to know.

But Kiyoomi didn’t embarrass himself with any other intention than to be honest about his feelings. He didn’t intend on starting anything with Atsumu again, not after the heartbreak they had dealt each other. And certainly not after he was very clearly told that he wasn’t worth it, his very own words stabbing him in the gut. Revenge was best served cold, and Atsumu was a glacier.

 _I made my mistakes and he made sure I paid for them, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep suffering_ , Kiyoomi decided. He wasn’t perfect, and whether or not he deserved it, he had no intention of letting himself be someone’s punching bag.

And it was inevitable that he would hurt Atsumu again even if he tried his best not to. That was just how relationships worked. And if they so very easily imploded when they weren’t even _together_ , then Kiyoomi had no hope that any proper relationship between them would turn out well.

He had learned his lesson.

Being with Atsumu would only hurt.

\--

The most unbearable part of being home was the sheer lack of anything to do. There was no Hinata and Bokuto running outside in the hall; there was no Inunaki yelling at them to shut up; there were no team bonding activities; and there was no Atsumu to spend the nights with.

His parents didn’t work the same shift, and their schedules were always changing so he didn’t know when to expect them. When he heard someone arrive in the wee hours of the morning, he pretended to sleep.

The next morning, his father was in the kitchen, dressed for work and bundling a bento.

“Ah, you’re home,” he said upon seeing Kiyoomi. “I must be going soon, but welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi said awkwardly.

They didn’t speak until his father was about to exit the kitchen. He paused in the doorway. “Your mother will be wanting to speak to you soon. About your latest...misconduct on television.”

 _Misconduct?_ He repressed the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, Father.”

With a nod, his father left.

Kiyoomi wished he wasn’t made aware that his mother was waiting to rip him a new one, because he was tense for the rest of the day.

When he received another text from Atsumu, he jumped. He tried to resist, but he couldn’t help himself; an ache settled in his chest as he read the “missed you. sorry.” 

He was getting sick of apologies, but he found that he missed Atsumu, too. That didn’t mean he was ready to talk to him, however.

His mother arrived late in the night. Out of habit, he stood when he heard the front door close, and made his way to the living room to greet her.

“Kiyoomi,” she greeted curtly. Her wavy black hair was held back by a tight ponytail, making the sharp angles in her face seem more severe. The only signs of exhaustion were in her eyes, which had dark bags under them that even makeup couldn’t conceal. “I’ll just bathe and we can have dinner. We need to have a discussion. Order some take out, will you?”

“Yes, Mother.”

He called the restaurant that he knew his mother liked and waited, back straight and shoulders stiff. His mother didn’t come back down until the food had arrived and Kiyoomi was setting up in the kitchen.

And it wasn’t until midway through the meal that she said, “That interview was a disgrace.”

Taking a deep breath, he put down his chopsticks and said, “I had a lapse in judgment.” He could admit that much.

“Clearly. This will forever stain you,” she said disapprovingly. “You are a professional athlete—”

“Stain?” The word passed his lips without permission. But the word made something in him tighten in defense.

She leveled him with a stern look. “Yes, _stain_. Once again, you are the laughing stock of the country, and _once again_ , it was because of that _boy_. That ridiculous interview has been immortalized, and you can rest assured that it will follow you for the rest of your life. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Kiyoomi studied his chicken cutlets. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad? You were practically begging on air. And to get into a quarrel with him, too? I could barely finish the interview —”

“Well, you didn’t have to watch it.”

There was a pause in the conversation and a flash of panic seized Kiyoomi when he realized what he’d said.

“How can I not watch it?” His mother’s voice was deceptively light. “I could not avoid it even if I tried. It was all my colleagues could even talk about with me. Do you even understand how ashamed I was?”

 _Do you even understand how in pain I was?_ This time he managed to control his mouth. He forced out, “Sorry.”

“You should be.” She pursed her lips. “Well? Have you two resumed your relationship?”

He wanted to say _‘Yes, we have’_ out of spite, but that would only bite him in the ass. “No, we have not.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. But I suppose I’m relieved. That boy —”

“His name is Atsumu.”

His mother paused. “ _That boy_ was clearly not good for you, Kiyoomi. I’m relieved he’s out of the picture. He seems to have made a fool out of you — you must admit, it’s better this way.”

And those were the same exact thoughts that had been running through Kiyoomi’s mind, but they grated on him now that they were coming from his mother. Because she didn’t know the whole story, didn’t even care to find out. She had no idea about the emotional turmoil he’d been the past weeks — hell, she had no idea about the emotional turmoil he’d been in for _years_. She didn’t care whether or not Atsumu made him happy, or that there were many factors that led to him laying himself bare on television.

And she sure as hell didn’t care that one of the biggest reasons he was in this position was because of her.

No, all she cared about was her family’s _reputation_.

But Kiyoomi couldn't say anything, not when he was in her house. It would be better for his sanity if he just didn't pick fights. He had learned that early on. Nothing had changed, had it?

He ate the rest of his meal in angry silence.

Later that night, he received more texts from Atsumu, something about strawberry daifuku and Kiyoomi being sweet.

He smiled, comforted.

\--

Atsumu kept texting. Kiyoomi didn’t open the messages, but he didn’t mute the alerts.

The days passed by slowly, peppered with awkward encounters with his father, and even more awkward dinners with his mother. Sometimes they were both present for a meal, and Kiyoomi survived those only because they seem to have dismissed the topic of Atsumu altogether.

Without meaning to, he found himself looking forward to the text messages. There was nothing to do after all. He’d meet up with Komori, but his cousin had been messaging him nonstop about the interview, and he simply didn’t want to explain himself again.

**Atsumu** : i should really stop watching horror movies, i hate them omi

 **Atsumu** : but if you want to i’d watch them with you but that’s it i swear

**Atsumu** : is it weird that im already planning the date you might not even agree to

 **Atsumu** : sorry pls ignore that

 **Atsumu** : sorry

**Atsumu** : i know you’re home right now and you said you don’t have a good relationship with your family soooo hoping yer okay omi-kun!

**Atsumu** : omiiii look at this puppy!!! [ _image attached_ ]

His fingers itched to open the message, wanting to see the picture, but he resisted. He already felt guilty at the thought of Atsumu pouting down at the _‘seen’_ that would appear under the messages, and Kiyoomi was trying to get things to calm down, not make them worse.

He wondered how long Atsumu would keep this up. Wondered how he could just — _move on_ like that. Atsumu had been so angry and Kiyoomi had hurt him so much. How could he be so willing to try again?

But maybe Kiyoomi shouldn’t be surprised. Atsumu went through emotions deeply, but with the speed of light. And he was decisive and resolute — a snap of his fingers and he was well on his way on a course of action; a wave of his hand and everything was fixed. He was a man who got what he wanted because he didn’t hesitate on working towards his goals.

While Kiyoomi was no less hardworking, he was the type to take things slow and steady and consistently. He never had a problem with that before, because he still got results, but could he ever keep up with Atsumu? Could he make that leap once again?

**Atsumu** : i’m probably annoying you with all these messages so i just want to say you dont hafta reply to me omi-kun. i’ll wait til you’re ready

Maybe it was a bad idea, but Atsumu made him want to try.

\--

The katsudon was tasteless. _Osamu makes better food_ , he thought idly. Not that it was homemade — Kiyoomi knew his parents just ordered their meal from somewhere expensive.

The tension in the dining room could be cut with a knife, but he told himself he wasn’t breaking first. He concentrated on his meal, trying his best to enjoy it, even if he couldn’t for the life of him relax.

There was a special kind of dread that only befell him when he was around his family. The kind of dread that caused a physical reaction, like he wanted to vomit. Stiff movements, unsteady hands, acid in his stomach. Or maybe he just felt it more keenly now, because he got used to being away from them.

Finally Akio said, “Are we talking about it? I feel like we all want to talk about it. Kiyo, oh my god, what was that interview?”

Did it look like _Kiyoomi_ wanted to talk about it? Resentment took hold of him, but he tried not to let it show. His living nightmare was nothing but entertainment for his sister.

Kano sighed. “Not this again.” He looked at Kiyoomi. “It’s all she’s been bugging me about for days.”

“But I have so many questions,” Akio said. “Are you two back together?”

“No,” Kiyoomi muttered.

“To be honest, I was almost rooting for you two when I watched it,” she sighed almost dreamily. “If I weren’t dying in secondhand embarrassment.”

“Akio,” his mother said sharply, and his sister bowed her head in deference. “Don’t encourage him. They’ve broken up, let’s leave it at that.”

For a moment, his body locked up at the tone, the way it did in the restaurant. But then comprehension dawned on him, followed by a surge of bitter anger.

So that was why his mother never brought it up again. She didn’t want Kiyoomi to get any ideas.

It felt so manipulative.

“Yes, it would be best that Kiyoomi concentrated on his career,” his father put in. “You’ve barely started, son, this is not the time for flings.”

 _Fling_ , he noted in irritation. Then, _Ah, so they talked about it._

It irked him further to think that his parents were discussing him behind closed doors, trying to figure out the best way to keep him behaved.

“I know how to balance,” Kiyoomi said stiffly.

“Still, it’s a bad idea,” his father said.

“Oh, so if it’s Wakatoshi it’s fine, but if Atsumu it’s a bad idea?”

Eyes swiveled to him, and he knew it was because he rarely spoke against his parents before. He knew he should reign in his temper, but his hand was trembling, long-buried fury simmering in his chest.

“Wakatoshi is responsible, I never had to worry,” his mother said mildly. “He already had a glowing career in volleyball, my goodness, he was in the Olympics! That spoke a lot about the discipline he has —”

“You mean the discipline you think Atsumu doesn’t have?” That was what she was getting at, wasn’t she? “Because I’ll have you know he’s very disciplined. And he’ll be in the next Olympics, I’m sure of it.”

His siblings exchanged a glance.

“That boy is wild—” His mother wasn’t trying to mask her distaste now, and Kiyoomi wanted to sneer and say, ‘ _You have no idea.'_

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said instead.

“Why are you speaking as if —”

“What, as if I like him?” Kiyoomi was gripping his chopsticks so hard, he could feel the wood digging into his knuckles. “Because I do. I love him. And I don’t appreciate you talking down on him because I happen to think the world of him.”

“Kiyoomi,” his mother sighed, as if he was eight again and asking to go to the water park. It was a tone that preceded something along the lines of _‘Now why would you want that?’_ “That boy’s not good for you—”

“And what would you know what’s good for me?”

“I am your mother—”

“And so fucking what.”

Ringing silence. Kiyoomi could barely believe what he’d just said, but for once, he didn’t want to take it back.

His mother was slowly getting to her feet now, gathering up her height so she could impose over the entire table. “You will not speak to me that way. This was not how we raised you, Kiyoomi. I knew it, you’ve changed because of that boy—”

“His name is Atsumu!” Kiyoomi shot to his feet too, chair dragging against the wooden flooring behind him. “And you don’t get to treat me this way, not again, not now that I’m an adult—”

She laughed scornfully. “Adult? Adults don’t act this way. You’re only twenty-three—”

“And that’s twenty-three years of putting up with all your bullshit,” he snapped, prompting gasps around the table. “I am so sick of having to adjust myself to your standards. It was fine before when I felt I had to better myself to reach them, but now — but now you’re just _smothering_ me and I refuse to bend, Mother.”

His mother’s eyes were wide, but whether with shock or fury, he didn’t know. “I do no such thing—”

"But you do!" His voice was hinging on hysterical now, but he was past caring. “You always make me feel like I’m always wrong, like I’ll never be enough! And I accepted that because — because you’re my mother, and I didn’t know any better. But I do now.”

“Kiyo.” Kano was staring at him in disbelief. “Sit down.” Which meant _‘shut up.’_

Akio cleared her throat awkwardly. “Mother, this is clearly a sensitive issue for Kiyo, I’m sure he didn’t mean it…”

“I meant every word,” Kiyoomi said coldly. He glared at his siblings, and then at his father in good measure. He had never felt so angry in his entire life, but his mind was clear, and for once, he found the right words. “And I might as well tell you — you are all the shittiest people to ever walk this planet. You think you’re so much better than most people, but I’ll have you know that _nobody_ likes you. Nobody likes stuck-up, snobby people like you. The things you said to Atsumu that night — I should have said something at the time but you were being purposely cruel, and for what? What do you gain out of that kind of thing? I am ashamed to even be associated with you. And I don’t know what your issue with Atsumu is, if it’s his small town upbringing, or the fact that his life didn’t go in the same direction as mine, or if it’s because he’s nothing like you’ve seen before but I’d rather be in his company than yours. Anytime.”

They gawked at him in stunned disbelief. Akio’s chopsticks slipped from her fingers and clattered to the dining table.

He supposed nobody thought the night would turn out this way. But Kiyoomi thought it was a long time coming.

In a quiet voice, his mother said, “You will learn to respect the people in this house or you will leave.” Her gaze was cold and unyielding, making it clear that she was serious.

It struck him then, that she will never change. This aspect of his life will never change. And he could remain either bound by it forever or he could just... _leave_.

What was he even staying for? Obligation? They no longer supported him financially, he never followed in their footsteps, he was living on his own in another _city_ — and there was little love lost between him and his family, so it wasn’t as if he would be crippled by their absence. Hell, he wouldn’t even miss them. He would be fucking relieved to be free of them, of this sickening anxiety that always came with even just the thought of them.

And there were better things waiting for him, somewhere far away from here. His phone seemed to burn a hole through his pocket.

“Then I’ll leave,” he said, just as calmly. No room for doubt.

It must have been the easiest decision he’d ever made.

Ignoring his family’s calls, he turned and stormed up the stairs to get his things.

He was out of that cursed house in minutes.

\--

 **Atsumu** : i remember the day i fell in love with you. it was valentines day, that’s poetic huh? i’ll never forget it now.

 **Atsumu** : remember that day? i got you these chocolates and you ate them in bed and you smiled at me and i was gone. or maybe i was gone earlier, who knows. that was just the day i realized it.

**Atsumu** : i saw a black cat in the street and i remembered you

 **Atsumu** : that’s nothing new, everything reminds me of you these days

 **Atsumu** : you’ll haunt me forever, won’t you?

**Atsumu** : thinking about you again today.

 **Atsumu** : i wonder how you’re holding up

 **Atsumu** : you know, if you need me, you can call?

 **Atsumu** : like, anytime

 **Atsumu** : i know you’ll be just fine though

Kiyoomi was tempted to call Atsumu now, but there were things he’d never want him to fix. And surely he wouldn’t want to listen to Kiyoomi talk about the same people he’d failed to defend him from before.

Winter was long over and spring was in full bloom, but nights were still chilly. He snuggled into his coat as he stood outside the train station with his suitcase, wondering where to go. He considered calling Komori, but they were cousins; he didn’t want this to be a full-blown family drama with people taking sides.

He could go back to Osaka, but the thought of the long train ride this late made him sag in exhaustion. Just standing around with no place to go after his emotional outburst made him want to break down in tears. He had never felt so alone.

There was one other person he could call, and he thought long and hard whether it was a good idea. After ten whole minutes of consideration, he decided it was the _best_ idea.

He pulled his phone out and dialed a number he knew as well as his own.

“Wakatoshi?”

\--

Tendou Satori opened the door. “Oh goodness, please come on in.”

“I apologize for barging in like this,” Kiyoomi said earnestly.

“Don’t worry about it! I was just cooking dinner.”

Kiyoomi dragged his suitcase past the doorway, murmuring, “Pardon the intrusion.” He abandoned his suitcase near a wall and faced the man he’d resented for the better part of two years.

Tendou looked...normal. He was sporting short hair now, compared to the long hair that used to stick up from his head in high school. He was as lanky and tall as ever, but instead of the mocking smile he used to wear on the court, there was nothing but sincerity in his face.

And Kiyoomi didn’t feel an ounce of hatred, only a vague sense of awkwardness.

“Wakatoshi should be down soon,” Tendou said. “He took a quick shower, so he could hug you, he said.”

Kiyoomi let out a short laugh at that, a heaviness pressing down insistently on his chest. Wakatoshi had always been so damn considerate, and it moved Kiyoomi that even after all this time, he was still here anticipating his needs.

The problem with ending long-term relationships was not knowing what to do with everything you learned about the person you broke up with. How do you go on living knowing there was someone who knew you like the back of your hand and decided they wanted no part of that anymore? Where do you put all the knowledge about their favorite food, or their favorite movie, or their favorite side of the bed? 

Now he was starting to think that maybe he didn’t have to throw that away; that Wakatoshi didn’t throw that away. Maybe not everything had to be buried.

“Okay, you’re worrying me,” Tendou said, keeping a distance away from him. “‘Cause a while ago you were laughing and now you’re crying. I’m not supposed to touch you, am I? I think he said not to touch you. Um — Wakatoshi, hurry up!”

Tendou scampered out of the room before Kiyoomi could assure him that he was fine. But he was probably not fine. There really was something wrong with him, because it always took his mind a while to catch up with his heart.

He sat down on the couch and sniffled, not bothering to stem his tears. What was he even crying about? It was a good decision that he left his home. He wasn’t going to take that back.

So why did he feel so out of sorts? He wasn’t normally so emotional. But he felt as if he’d been put through the wringer. That he’d been in the wringer for weeks.

A blanket settled over him, familiar hands settling on his shoulder. The couch dipped as Wakatoshi sat down beside him. He was only able to utter “Kiyoomi —” before Kiyoomi was throwing himself in his arms, letting his sobs rip free.

He hadn’t cried this much in years; certainly not when he and Wakatoshi separated, and not even when things with Atsumu turned hellish. Wakatoshi hugged him and rubbed his back, but Kiyoomi could feel his worry in the tense lines of his body.

Finally, he got a hold of himself and pulled away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Wakatoshi eyed him with a frown. “What _happened_? What’s wrong? You said you had a fight with your parents—?”

The reminder had him tearing up again. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“From the beginning preferably. Kiyoomi, I could tell even during the party that you were keeping things from me.”

“From the beginning,” he repeated. If he was to start from the beginning of where things went wrong for him, he would have to start at that stupid charity ball in December. “It’s a long story.”

“Luckily, I made hot chocolate for everyone,” Tendou sang, sauntering into the room. “And got some tissues for you — no offense, dude, but you kinda need it.”

Kiyoomi accepted the drink and the pack of tissues and wondered how much of the story he should tell. Then he decided he had enough of lies.

Taking a deep breath, he started talking. And he told them _everything_.

By the end of it, Wakatoshi was vibrating in anger, eyes like flints. “I’m going to kill him.”

Kiyoomi blinked at that. He had capped off his story with the dinner with his family. “Who?”

“Miya,” Wakatoshi bit out. “He — he —”

Ah, he got stuck on that. “He’s entitled to his anger,” Kiyoomi pointed out. “It’s fine. It’s — we have issues to work on, but he’s not the problem right now.”

But Wakatoshi couldn’t seem to let it go. “Did he hurt you? Physically?”

Well, he wasn’t about to tell him that he nearly fell to the floor trying to walk the morning after that last night. Even though it hurt, he distinctly remembered himself wanting it. “No, he just yelled a lot.”

Wakatoshi stared at him. “You’re lying.” He stood right up, fists balled at his side. “I told you, Kiyoomi, I said I’d beat him up —”

Kiyoomi cut him off with a snort. But he couldn’t help the wave of fondness. It lightened his mood considerably.

“Wakatoshi, sit down,” Tendou said. He had his fingers laced together and was studying Kiyoomi as if he was a particularly fascinating species of insect. “There’s too much to unpack here. But first of all — _fake dating?_ Who the hell thought of _that?_ ”

Groaning, Kiyoomi rubbed his wet face. “Our PR manager. I mean, it worked. And it would have kept working if we remained strictly professional but… we didn’t. And now things are just so… horrible.”

With a grumble, Wakatoshi sat down. “I cannot believe you lied to me at that party.”

“I didn’t owe you the truth,” he said mulishly. “Besides, at the time I meant most of the things I said. I already had feelings for him.”

“And then your parents demanded to meet him so that dinner happened…” Tendou seemed to be thinking things through. “Man, that was mean of them. They really just wanted to scare him off, and it worked. I mean, I wouldn’t introduce Wakatoshi to my parents unless we were like, super serious, like _getting married_ serious, you know? But then we’re traditional like that, I dunno. I’d say they wanted to nip it in the bud.”

“They knew what they were doing,” Wakatoshi agreed. “They didn’t approve of Kiyoomi’s relationship with me either, not at first.”

“They didn’t like that I was with a guy,” Kiyoomi explained. “But they ended up liking you, because let’s be honest, you fit the bill. It’s the only reason. And I just got sick of all of that crap, I want no part of it anymore.”

“Because you love Miya?” Wakatoshi was studying him with knowing eyes.

Kiyoomi looked away. “He’s one reason, I suppose. A catalyst, maybe. But it doesn’t matter. We’re not anything.”

“You made the right decision with that,” Wakatoshi assured. “You needed some time apart, that’s fine. And if you decide you want nothing to do with him, that would be justified as well—”

“Toshi,” Tendou sighed.

“And you made the right decision leaving that house,” Wakatoshi continued stubbornly. “I am pleased that you’re choosing yourself now. You’ve put too much weight on what your family thinks of you for much too long.”

Kiyoomi nodded slowly. “Maybe I’ll actually feel good about it tomorrow.” Things always looked better in the morning, didn’t they? Fatigue pulled at him, and he wanted nothing more than to find a brief respite in sleep.

“You must be exhausted.” Wakatoshi climbed to his feet, sending a wave of relief through Kiyoomi. “Come, we prepared the guest room for you. I changed the sheets and everything.”

Kiyoomi stood and fetched his suitcase. He moved to follow him, nodding politely at Tendou, who waved at him enthusiastically.

What a strange man.

“I wanna shower first, Toshi,” Kiyoomi yawned.

“Of course.”

They set up his luggage in the guest room, and Wakatoshi waited as Kiyoomi plucked out fresh clothes. Then he walked him to the bathroom.

“I set out a new towel for you, it’s already in there,” Wakatoshi said.

“Thank you.” Kiyoomi couldn’t express the gratitude he felt. “For taking me in.”

“Stay as long as you need,” Wakatoshi said, because he was generous like that.

But Kiyoomi wasn’t that selfish. “Just for tonight. I know Tendou is probably rarely here, I don’t want to take up much of your time together.”

“He’ll be staying for another three weeks. It’s fine. I mean it, you won’t be a bother.”

Conflicted, Kiyoomi simply said, “I’ll think about it.”

With a short nod, Wakatoshi turned to take his leave. Then he paused and turned back around, expression sorrowful. “Kiyoomi. For whatever part I unwittingly played….for whatever hurt I caused you, I’m sorry. I didn’t understand until now, until the interview, that my actions caused you that much distress.”

Fuck, of course he watched the interview. Kiyoomi’s throat felt clogged again. “I didn’t want to tell you for this reason. I don’t want you to feel guilty, Wakatoshi. It’s all in the past.”

“But it still hurt you for the longest time.”

“That’s my burden to bear, not yours,” Kiyoomi said firmly. “I never blamed you. How I deal with my pain is my problem. And if I’ve hurt people because of it, that’s still my problem.”

Wakatoshi nodded, hesitating by the doorway. “Anything you need—”

“I’ll let you know.” Kiyoomi knew Wakatoshi wasn’t simply being hospitable now. He meant, _‘Anything you need to make you feel better.’_ But there was nothing to it now other than space and time. “For now, I’m _fine_.”

With one final nod and a _‘goodnight,’_ Wakatoshi took his leave.

As Kiyoomi ducked under the shower, he let himself unwind, relief warming him more than the hot water. He didn’t realize how much he’d been needing someone who was firmly in his corner, someone who’d say _‘I don’t care if you were wrong, I’m still upset that you’re hurt.’_ Part of the reason he was avoiding Komori was because he knew he would chew him out about Atsumu again, but that wasn’t what Kiyoomi wanted to hear right now. 

It was a good decision, talking to Wakatoshi, because he was the only other person who knew his struggles with his family. And if it further repaired their relationship, then he saw no harm in that.

He felt like the world was slowly shifting, the earth grinding painfully against itself as it corrected itself. But it was being corrected.

There was one other person who he still wanted to talk to, though, and he thought it was time.

Luckily, there were more messages from Atsumu waiting on his phone after his bath. Of course there were. Kiyoomi smiled; the idiot really kept it up. Atsumu was tireless when it came to things he loved, he knew that already. But for a moment there, he’d feared that he’d stopped being one of those things.

But apparently not. Maybe there was hope for them still. Maybe they were just the right amount of stubborn to make this work, no matter how much it hurt.

**Atsumu** : i like that you’re such a brat when it comes to your skin

 **Atsumu** : i like buying skincare for you. kinda feels like you’re trusting me with something

 **Atsumu** : i like the headband you wear when you’re doing your routine <3

 **Atsumu** : kinda wanna get into it, but we don’t really have products here...bar soap is fine right?

**Atsumu** : i’m saying i like you. i like a lot of things about you. your laugh. your weird wrists. your moles. i named some of them, you know. one day i’ll tell you. and everything i like about you too. goodnight omi

[Seen at 11:38 p.m.]

**Kiyoomi** : Goodnight, Atsumu.

 **Kiyoomi** : Bar soap is NOT fine.

Putting his phone down, Kiyoomi climbed under the clean covers, still smiling.

He couldn’t wait to wake up tomorrow.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omi POV

Morning dawned clear and bright, and Kiyoomi spent a minute blinking around the room he was in, disoriented. Then he remembered the events of last night and winced.

_How embarrassing, I was such a mess._

But things seemed less severe now that he’d slept, and he found he didn’t regret any of it — not what he said to his family, not what he said to Wakatoshi, and not the decision to text Atsumu.

Quickly, he plucked his phone up to check his messages, and his heart raced when he saw the notifications.

**Atsumu** : OMI!!!!!!!

 **Atsumu** : sorry i got a bit overexcited there but HI!!

**Atsumu** : omi?

 **Atsumu** : oh great i fucked up already

Muffling a laugh, Kiyoomi started typing up a message.

**Kiyoomi** : I just woke up. Good morning.

 **Atsumu** : GOOD MORNING!!!

 **Atsumu** : how are you? are you good? have you eaten? you woke up kinda late

Kiyoomi blinked upon seeing the time: 9:49 a.m. That _was_ late for him, as he was usually up and running before sunrise.

But he’d had a rough night. He wondered if he should tell Atsumu about that, and decided he at least had to let him know where he was. And if Atsumu didn’t like it, then Kiyoomi was seriously going to consider throwing in the towel once and for all.

**Kiyoomi** : I had a bad night. I’m staying at Wakatoshi’s for now.

It took over ten minutes for Atsumu to reply. In that span of time, Kiyoomi thought of every possible reaction he might have, and was already preparing to say goodbye to any chance of a relationship between them when Atsumu texted again.

**Atsumu** : oh. what happened? is it your family?

Kiyoomi blinked. And blinked again. This was milder than anything he’d been bracing himself for.

**Kiyoomi** : Yes. It’s a long story.

 **Atsumu** : i’m listening.

 **Kiyoomi** : Are you free for a call later?

 **Atsumu** : YES

 **Atsumu** : what time?

 **Atsumu** : whatever, YES ANYTIME

 **Kiyoomi** : Weird things are happening right now, I’ll call you when things have settled

By _‘things’_ of course, Kiyoomi meant himself.

Dragging himself out of bed, Kiyoomi went through his morning routine in the bathroom before making his way to the kitchen, feeling ill at ease in someone else’s home. Knowing it was his ex’s apartment where his current boyfriend was currently staying in just made it more awkward for him.

And it looked like he wasn’t getting a break, because it was Tendou he found in the kitchen, setting down cups on the counter.

“Oh, heya!” Tendou greeted, glancing over his shoulder. “Go have a seat, I’ll be right there with tea.”

Not knowing what else to do, Kiyoomi took a seat. He tapped around on his phone, relieved to see that he and Atsumu were no longer on his feed. They weren’t forgotten just yet, but there were other things to talk about for now. Should the two of them remain quiet, it will all blow over.

Tendou plopped down on the chair in front of him, shoving a teaming cup towards him.

Kiyoomi gratefully accepted, clearing his throat. “So, where’s Wakatoshi?”

“Ah, on a grocery run. I just realized we don’t have enough food for three. We’ve been meaning to drop by the store but never got around to it.”

Nodding, Kiyoomi took a careful sip from his cup. The tea soothed him somewhat. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he bit the bullet. “Doesn’t it bother you? Me being here.”

Tendou studied him again like he was the most interesting person he’d ever seen. “Not gonna lie, I used to be so jealous of you.”

Kiyoomi blinked at him.

“I know, I know, I probably had no right because in your eyes I stole him away.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not—”

“No, I understand, I do,” Tendou assured, placing his palms down on the table. “I did feel shitty about that at first, even though I was happy to finally be with him, you know? But it became really obvious that he wasn’t going to just forget you. Like, ever. The first few months were so horrible for me, I think sometimes he forgot you weren’t his boyfriend anymore. And you know Wakatoshi, he’s always so earnest...when he talks about you, he really — he really doesn’t hold back with the praises. He always spoke highly of you, you know. Actually he still does, even now. And I used to wonder if he’d ever love me the way he loved you.”

Lips parted, Kiyoomi could only stare. He didn’t consider that things might not have been sunshine and rainbows with Tendou and Wakatoshi. They always looked so happy in their photos. But he should know better about those things now. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Tendou tittered. “Besides, we’re all good now. And I should be the one apologizing. I know I was a big reason why you two broke up, and shit, I am so sorry for that, so very sorry.”

“I was the one who ended it,” Kiyoomi said.

“But because of me, right?”

And that he couldn’t deny.

“I could never make up for that, and there’s no changing things — not that I would want to, sorry — but I could still apologize,” Tendou said.

Kiyoomi had never wanted nor needed an apology from him, but it did ease something in his chest.

He supposed Tendou wasn’t so bad after all. He was just...some guy. And not the monster he’d created in his head. With that thought, he found it in himself to say, “I accept your apology. It took me a while but I’m fine.”

“You’ll be fine after this too.”

They exchanged respectful nods and steered the conversation to lighter topics. Tendou told him about what it was like working as a chef in Paris, the hardships of starting from scratch in a new country, and the struggles of making a long distance relationship work.

In turn, Kiyoomi told him about his college years and what it was like going pro. He wasn’t what anyone would call talkative, but it was refreshing, opening up to what was essentially a stranger. It felt like starting fresh.

Eventually, Wakatoshi appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, eyeing them seemingly in confusion.

“Finally!” Tendou exclaimed, getting to his feet. “We’re starving. Now, you two boys behave while I whip us up some breakfast.” 

As Tendou started puttering around the kitchen, Wakatoshi tentatively sat down beside Kiyoomi, watching him with a strange look. “Are you well?”

Kiyoomi nodded. “Yes, I am.”

He spent the better of the day catching up with Wakatoshi and Tendou. After breakfast, they lounged in the living room exchanging stories, and the hours slipped past with none of them noticing. It was only when afternoon came and Kiyoomi’s stomach grumbled that they realized they had forgotten lunch.

After the meal, Kiyoomi excused himself to take a shower and he was reminded once again that he was not at home.

And that he wanted nothing more than to be home.

He straightened up the room he’d stayed in when he finished his bath and packed up all his things. That done, he sought out Wakatoshi.

“I should go,” he said when he found him and Tendou cleaning up the kitchen.

Wakatoshi looked up at him. “You could stay.”

“Yeah, stay!” Tendou said. “It’s really not a problem.”

It was tempting, the offer to keep running away from his problems. He _could_ hide away in here for another few days. Leaving meant being alone for the foreseeable future, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to that.

But as he watched Wakatoshi and Tendou move seamlessly around each other in the kitchen and the home that was clearly theirs, he thought, _I don’t belong here._

He had long since overstayed his welcome. In this apartment, in his childhood home, and even in this city. Tokyo, which held all his past, wasn't his place anymore.

Kiyoomi smiled genuinely at them. “Nah. It’s time for me to get a move on.”

\--

He spent the three-hour train ride to Osaka staring unseeingly out the window, lost in his head. He thought about his family, who had sent him messages demanding that he return, and Atsumu, who had sent more messages than all of them combined. Thought about his teammates and Komori and even Suna who were all waiting for a word from him, because he had seemingly disappeared from the face of the planet.

Watching the world spin past, he came to the realization that he had been holding on to all the wrong things. Even though they raised him in comfort and privilege, he owed his family nothing. And even though he'd been happy with Wakatoshi, those days were long gone.

Maybe he didn't see how much he'd grown because he was only now facing all the things he'd outgrown.

And maybe it was okay that the realization was belated and caught him off guard. Sometimes people don't really see themselves clearly, and that's fine. Sometimes it takes other people for them to see that there's a future waiting for them, one that promises days better than the past.

People like a certain setter with bleached blonde hair and a devastating smile.

Kiyoomi wanted to see Atsumu now, more than ever. But he didn't want him to come running to save him; Atsumu was home in Hyogo, and Kiyoomi wasn't about to disturb him from a much-needed break.

He missed him, though.

 _I’ll call Atsumu as soon as I’m back at the sharehouse_ , he decided. The train is no place to hold an important conversation.

When he checked his phone halfway through his trip, he saw that Komori had left more messages over an hour ago.

 **Komori** : Sakusa!! Your mother called my mother and they’re looking for you and holy shit, did you really walk out on them? Answer my call!!!

 **Komori** : I won’t tell them where you are if you don’t want me to, just let me know you’re safe

 **Komori** : Don’t push me into extremes i swear to all that is holy

Kiyoomi was about to reply when his phone died. Oh wonderful, he’d forgotten to charge it before he left Wakatoshi’s place.

He sat back and dozed, letting the rest of the train ride pass in a blur. Before he knew it, the doors were opening and it was time for him to go.

Stretching, he grabbed his suitcase from the overhead compartment and slowly made his way out of the carriage. Based on the light outside, the sun had started to sink, coloring the world with a soft warm glow. 

And there on the platform stood Miya Atsumu.

Kiyoomi stopped in his tracks, unmindful of the passengers who streamed past him. Atsumu seemed to be waiting for him; he wasn’t moving, his eyes locked on Kiyoomi’s face.

When the platform more or less emptied, Atsumu said, “I’ve never been glad to miss a train in my life.”

“Where — where were you going?” Kiyoomi was baffled, to say the least.

“To fucking _Tokyo_ ,” Atsumu said as if it was obvious. “Suna called me, saying something about Komori freaking out and you running away from home and nobody not knowing where you went, and I remembered you said you were with — with Ushijima, but I called _him_ and he said you left but he also didn’t specify where you were going, he just said you were going ‘home’ and neither of us knew if you meant Tokyo or Osaka so —”

“So you booked a train to Tokyo?”

“Well, yeah!” Atsumu looked worked up now. “It was the last place anybody was sure you were at!”

“You booked a train to Tokyo and missed it?” Kiyoomi wanted to clarify.

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing here. But yes, I came from Hyogo alright? I had to take two lines to get here, and the shinkansen left almost an hour ago but I thought that _just_ in case you meant you were going to _Osaka_ , I would wait. So I waited.” Atsumu lifted his arms as if to demonstrate what he meant. “And that’s my explanation. What’s yours?”

Kiyoomi lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I wanted to go home.”

“Right.” Atsumu was staring at him. “Why did you even go back to Tokyo?”

“There were things I needed to settle. Though I guess I didn't know that at the time,” he mused.

Now that he thought about it, the past few weeks had been strange. What made him walk up the steps to his childhood home? What possessed him to call Wakatoshi? In fact, what pushed him to spill his secrets on national TV?

His brain always had been slow on the uptake when it came to what his heart wanted. But he thought that he'd been making good decisions lately, so he must finally be getting something right.

And he thought that he'd have to keep struggling to get things right the rest of the way, but here Atsumu was, meeting him halfway.

Maybe the gap caused by the heartbreak between them wouldn't be too hard to close.

“Sorry you came here for nothing,” Kiyoomi said, breaking away from his thoughts.

“It’s not for nothing.”

Kiyoomi studied Atsumu from head to toe, noting the hoodie he’d seemingly just thrown in, the distressed pair of jeans, and dirty white rubber shoes. “Your socks don’t match.”

“Well, sorry fashion police, I was in a bit of a rush,” Atsumu said hotly.

Tamping down on a smile, Kiyoomi asked, “And was it worth the journey coming here?”

“Yes.” Atsumu’s tone turned serious, as if he understood the gravity of the question. As if he understood that Kiyoomi didn’t just mean the commute. “It was. In fact, I think I’m all the more better for it. And you? Are you fine now?”

Kiyoomi smiled at him, warmed. “Yes. I'm very fine.”

“Oh.” Something like hope lit up Atsumu’s eyes. “And do you — do you forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive me.” He was so ready to leave all the hurt behind. All that was left now was a lingering heartache, but that was something only time could fix. And he had time. It didn’t mean he had to keep Atsumu waiting.

 _People won’t always be waiting in the wings_ , Wakatoshi had said. He might be right.

And if Atsumu could decide to put it all behind him, Kiyoomi could, too. They could try to fix things together.

“Yeah alright, you’re sorry, I’m sorry, everyone’s sorry. Let’s make a deal,” Atsumu declared, straightening his shoulders. “Let’s start over and never do all that shit again.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “I think we learned our lesson.” But he knew if they were going to try this, then they had no choice but to keep learning. There was still a lot of room for them to grow.

“Lesson’s not over yet,” Atsumu muttered, echoing his thoughts. After chewing his lip in thought, Atsumu bravely met his eyes and said, “I know there’s still a lot we need to fix, but to do that we need to talk, so — will you go with me on that date?”

Heart racing and stomach quivering, Kiyoomi was breathless when he answered, “I'd love to.”

Atsumu’s entire face brightened. It was blinding. “Our first real date, huh?” He bounced on his toes. “When are you free?”

The excitement was infectious. Kiyoomi had been wanting to return to the sharehouse, but now he was no longer in a rush. “Now? I mean...we're already at the station.”

“So we are. That's — pretty convenient.”

“Yeah,” he said lamely. _God, why is this so awkward?_

A beat passed and they both burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the moment, because how could they still be acting like teenagers in love after everything they’ve done with and to each other?

But Kiyoomi supposed that in order to start over, they would have to lay down new soil over the old. A new beginning.

And this is how it started again: standing in front of each other on a train platform, sunset rays hitting Atsumu’s face just right, turning his eyes into molten honey and his hair into spun gold. He was the warmest thing Kiyoomi had ever seen. He looked like home.

Without fear, Kiyoomi took the steps needed to bring them closer, and Atsumu’s cheeks turned pink at his proximity. Avoiding each other’s eyes, they walked side by side towards the exit.

A knuckle nudged the back of Kiyoomi’s hand and his heart started tumbling in his chest, setting a beat that could barely be contained. Despite his sweaty palms, he carefully took Atsumu’s hand in his.

They didn’t let go, not when they had to swipe their passes, and not when they had to take another set of stairs to a different platform. Kiyoomi let Atsumu tug him wherever he pleased; he seemed to already have a destination in mind, because he was decisive like that. He never learned the meaning of hesitation.

Kiyoomi had no idea where they were going. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. All he knew was that it wasn’t always going to be smooth-sailing, because they might look picture perfect, but behind the lights and the flashes were ugly souls.

But as he laced their fingers together, he thought they could make themselves fit together just right. If they tried hard enough. If they wanted it enough.

And he knew by now that they wanted it enough.

Atsumu pulled him down to the seat beside him, and Kiyoomi pressed in close, heart still beating a mile a minute. It tripped over itself when Atsumu leaned in and stole a kiss, petal soft lips brushing his cheek. Kiyoomi smiled, flustered. This was embarrassing. But he liked it.

This felt like falling in love again, except they both had eyes wide open this time around.

"Ready?" Atsumu murmured.

"Yes." He really was.

Leaning his head on Atsumu's shoulder, Kiyoomi closed his eyes and let the train take him to destinations unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank to you to everyone who came on this journey with me! It was fun to write -- I wanted to explore imperfect characters and imperfect relationships and I wanted to make it so raw that it's difficult to read sometimes. I wanted glitz and glamour and fame and I wanted UGLY. I wanted bad choices and I wanted consequences. I wanted the push and pull.
> 
> Before writing this, my brain was just like "sakuatsu jerks in canon, sakuatsu difficult people in canon, fake dating, fwb, it's gonna be a mess" and it went WHOOSH. And here we are. I did try to make it as happy as I (realistically) could!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments, I treasure each one! And thank you again to Ely, who had been sooooooo patient with all my "okay you can read" and "I CHANGED EVERYTHING AGAIN DON'T READ" and "Ely I haven't touched the google doc in 4 days."
> 
> And don't worry. These two boys will be just fine. Maybe a fluffy one shot one day? For now, I'll see you in the next one! (It will be fluffy I swear becauseitsfluffweek)

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Twitter ([@lettersinpetals](https://twitter.com/lettersinpetals))!


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